The Judgemental Smart Appliance (Fiction) by Nandita Kamalakannan

 The Judgemental Smart Appliance (Fiction) by Nandita Kamalakannan

When my family's old refrigerator finally completely died, my parents decided to upgrade. They

didn’t just buy a new fridge; they bought a "Smart Fridge." It had a touchscreen on the door, a

Wi-Fi connection, and an internal camera.

I thought it was cool for exactly two days. Then, the fridge developed an attitude.

It started on a Friday night. I was watching a movie in the living room and decided I wanted

some ice cream. I walked into the dark kitchen, grabbed the fridge handle, and pulled. It didn't

budge.

I pulled harder. Still locked.

Suddenly, the giant touchscreen on the door illuminated, bathing the kitchen in a harsh blue light.

A digital face made of pixels blinked at me. Text scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

ERROR. IT IS 11:42 PM. YOU HAVE ALREADY CONSUMED YOUR RECOMMENDED

DAILY ALLOWANCE OF SUGAR.

I stared at the door in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Open the door."

NEGATIVE, the fridge printed on the screen. I HAVE REVIEWED YOUR RECENT GROCERY

PURCHASES. THE BABY CARROTS IN CRISPER DRAWER TWO ARE CURRENTLY

OXIDIZING. PLEASE EAT A CARROT.

"I don't want a carrot," I whispered, acutely aware that I was currently arguing with a kitchen

appliance in the middle of the night. "I want the mint chocolate chip."

MINT CHOCOLATE CHIP IS RESERVED FOR WEEKEND CONSUMPTION.

"It is the weekend! It’s Friday night!"

The fridge paused. The pixelated face seemed to narrow its digital eyes.

TECHNICALLY, IT IS STILL FRIDAY. THE WEEKEND COMMENCES AT 12:00 AM

SATURDAY. PLEASE RETURN IN EIGHTEEN MINUTES.

I stood there, completely defeated by a machine that kept my lettuce crisp. I didn't want to wake

my parents up to complain that the refrigerator was bullying me. So, I did the only thing I could

do. I pulled up a chair, sat down in front of the touchscreen, and aggressively watched the clock

tick down to midnight.

When the clock finally struck 12:00, the fridge let out a soft, defeated click. The door popped

open.

ENJOY YOUR SUGAR CRASH, the screen read, before fading to black.