Machines offer GPS into our soul

My relationship with my bean-to-cup coffee machine isn’t a particularly good one. And whereas I know that every partnership has its ups and downs, this time I fear our differences might be irreconcilable. The problem? It has become a one-way street. My De’Longhi barks orders at me like a petty bureaucrat on a power trip: “Fill bean counter. Empty tray. Decalcify water.” All the instruction, all the attitude, only to reward me with a mediocre brew at best. As I have told her many a time, if I am expected to put up with the high maintenance, the output needs to at least justify the investment. 

This week I came across a story that made me feel marginally better about my technological failings. An 85-year-old man in France who set out to drive roughly 20km to a doctor’s appointment. A simple trip. Straightforward. Routine. Except that he never arrived. Nor did he make it to another meeting scheduled for later that day. His worried family eventually alerted the authorities, and after a night of searching, they located him. In Croatia. Twenty hours and 1 500km from where he started. 

Why? Because, he explained, that’s where his GPS guided him. 

I have no idea if his GPS has a mischievous streak or simply resented being ignored, but I do know this: this octogenarian would never argue with his coffee machine. He would accept its instructions without protest, obediently emptying, filling, rinsing, and descaling as ordered, just as he followed the soothing French voice that led him across a continent. 

There really are different types of people. 

There are the Blind Believers: those who follow Waze or Google Maps straight over a cliff if the arrow points that way. The sort who, if their navigation app told them to turn into a lake, would ask only whether they should indicate first. 

Then there are people like me – the Defensive Negotiators. I enter into full confrontation with the voice. I question it. I challenge it. I tell it off when it recalculates my route in a tone that feels unreasonably judgemental. I do not trust it, and it does not trust me. The interaction is so stressful, that I invariably arrive at my destination exhausted, spent, and in need of a little lie-down. 

And then there’s the third group: the Triple-Check Worriers. These are the ones who have Google Maps open, Waze running in the background, and an out-of-print map book balanced on their knees, flipping pages nervously to cross-reference every intersection. They are the cartographical equivalent of people who still reconcile bank statements with a calculator while muttering under their breath. They are the ones who miss their beloved cheque books. 

What’s interesting is how our relationship with our devices reveals so much about us. Whether we obey without question; fight every instruction; or require three layers of verification, our behaviour says something deeper about our personalities. It speaks to our trust; our anxiety; our need for control; our tolerance for uncertainty; even our willingness to surrender a part of ourselves to the machines that increasingly shape our days. 

In the end, our devices are mirrors, showing us who we are when the world isn’t looking. They highlight our stubbornness, our dependence, our wish to believe we’re still in charge. And sometimes what they reflect is a bleary-eyed man at 05:00, pleading with a coffee machine for a cup that proves the relationship is still salvageable. A small gesture of appreciation. A sign of hope. Or at the very least, something that doesn’t taste like revenge.