From: Eliezer S. Yudkowsky (sentience@pobox.com)
Date: Sun Jul 04 1999 - 21:16:27 MDT
Re: http://dailynews.yahoo.com/headlines/tc/
story.html?s=v/nm/19990703/tc/millennium_shopping_2.html
> LONDON (Reuters) - Please step forward into
> the future for a moment ... an android shop assistant is asking
> why you want blue trousers when its database says you prefer
> gray.
(The scene: A futuristic clothing-shop called "Morgan-Stanley
Futuristic Clothing". A calendar at the wall says "3000 A.D. " Outside
the window, we see a cartoon-like vista obviously stolen from "The
Jetsons". A CUSTOMER who looks remarkably like JOHN CLEESE is talking
to an ANDROID SHOPKEEPER, who looks like ERIC IDLE wrapped in aluminum foil.)
CUSTOMER: Hello, I'd like to buy a pair of blue trousers, please.
ANDROID: Are you sure you wouldn't have the gray, sir?
CUSTOMER: Gray? No, I don't want gray. I want blue.
ANDROID: Are you *really* sure you wouldn't rather buy a pair of gray
trousers, sir?
CUSTOMER: Of course I'm sure. Why do you keep asking?
ANDROID: Well, sir, our database indicates that you like gray trousers.
CUSTOMER: Your database is wrong. Now, will you sell me the blue trousers?
ANDROID: I'm afraid I can't do that, sir.
CUSTOMER: Well, why the devil not?
ANDROID: Because our database says you wouldn't enjoy them, sir. We are
programmed to give satisfaction, and we could never sell you a product
that you wouldn't like. But I could sell you a pair of gray trousers.
You like those.
CUSTOMER: I've never worn a blasted pair of gray trousers in my blasted
life, you bucket of bolts! I can't imagine why your fool database
thinks I would like them!
ANDROID: Well, sir, I confess I don't know how that information got into
the database. We do have Internet-connected surveillance cameras
everywhere. It could be as simple as an offhand remark made in a public
place, or even just a longing glance at some girl clad in gray trousers.
But we're sure you like them. Our database is never wrong.
CUSTOMER: I hate gray trousers! I think they look like someone vomited
on a pair of perfectly good trousers!
ANDROID [interrupting]: Oh, that can't be, sir. Our trousers are self-cleaning.
CUSTOMER: I don't care! Gray trousers are the work of the AntiChrist!
Every time I see a pair of gray trousers, I want to see them ripped to
bits! Now, will you sell me the blue trousers, or will I take my
business elsewhere?
ANDROID: No, sir, I'm afraid I won't sell you blue trousers, and neither
will anyone else. Your preferences are a clear part of the public
record and nobody would dream of selling you anything you rather
wouldn't buy.
CUSTOMER: Then I'll buy a pair of gray trousers, damn your eyes.
ANDROID: Oh, very good, sir.
[The ANDROID activates a laserlike device which scans the CUSTOMER's
every bodily dimension and compares them to the Internet record.]
ANDROID: I say, sir, you seem to be gaining weight. Have you considered
a program of exercise and exclusively Olestra-based -
CUSTOMER: Just sell me the damn trousers before I run amok with a laser pistol.
[The ANDROID finishes scanning the CUSTOMER. A moment later, a pair of
trousers pops out of the wall, having been downloaded over the Internet.]
CUSTOMER: Why, what a fine pair of trousers. Pristine, customized,
perfectly fitted, and, it would appear, gray. I suppose they are
self-cleaning as well, so as to prevent terrible accidents with a blue
marker or perhaps a bucket of paint.
ANDROID: Of course, sir. Do you wish to pay for them?
CUSTOMER: At this point, I would rather kill you and leave the trousers
and your shop blazing behind me, but I suppose I have no real choice in
the matter.
ANDROID: Of course not, sir.
[The CUSTOMER slaps his hand over an instant payment auth-o-matic cred-meter.]
CUSTOMER: There's your bloody money.
ANDROID: Very good, sir. Shall I wrap them for you?
CUSTOMER: I suppose so.
[The android proceeds to rip the trousers to shreds.]
CUSTOMER: What the hell are you DOING?
ANDROID: Sir, I distinctly recall you saying that you wanted to see gray
trousers ripped to shreds. I asked if you wished me to rip them for
you, and you replied in the affirmative.
CUSTOMER: I'm afraid I'm going to have to zap you now.
[The CUSTOMER takes out a laser pistol and zaps the ANDROID.]
ANDROID [dying]: I'm...going...to...tell...your...genetically...engineered...boss...on...you!
CUSTOMER: Good luck, he thinks he's a toaster oven.
[ANDROID dies.]
CUSTOMER: What a ghastly future.
--
sentience@pobox.com Eliezer S. Yudkowsky
http://pobox.com/~sentience/tmol-faq/meaningoflife.html
Running on BeOS Typing in Dvorak Programming with Patterns
Voting for Libertarians Heading for Singularity There Is A Better Way
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