“When Common Sense Didn’t Need Batteries (or a QR Code)”

By Mark Morgan

You can find my Children’s books at:

WWW. MARKMORGANBOOKS.COM

I ain’t mad at progress.I just wish it wouldn’t sneak up on me sideways.

Seems like everywhere I turn these days, somethin’s blinkin’, beepin’, scannin’, or askin’ me if I’m sure I want to continue. Back when I was growin’ up, the only thing that ever asked you that question was your mama — and she already knew the answer.

Take the grocery store.

I walked in the other day just needin’ a sack of cornmeal. Same cornmeal we’ve been eatin’ since before folks started worryin’ about carbs. I grabbed it, headed for the front, and that’s when I realized — all the cashiers were gone.

Not on break.Gone.

Instead, there sat a row of self-checkout machines starin’ at me like slot machines that paid out in frustration.

Now back in the day, you handed your money to a cashier. A real one. Someone who knew your name, your daddy’s name, and whether your gout was actin’ up before you even limped through the door.

You’d pay for your groceries, and while she counted change, she’d update you on the town:“Betty’s gout flarin’ again.”“Harold’s truck still won’t crank.”“And Lord help us, somebody married into that family.”

Now I got a machine tellin’ me, “Place item in the bagging area.”

I did place it there.I placed it gentle.I placed it respectful.Still wasn’t good enough.

Next thing I know, the machine lights up red like it caught me robbin’ Fort Knox with a sack of cornmeal. Alarm goin’ off. Screen flashin’. And here comes a teenager half my age lookin’ at me like I’m the problem.

I told her, “Honey, I ain’t steal nothin’. I just miss bein’ trusted.”

Then there’s GPS.

You type “Scott County” into a GPS and it panics like you asked it to solve algebra. It’ll send you down a road so muddy it’s got its own weather system, then cheerfully say, “You have arrived.”

Arrived where?A cow pasture with a gate wired shut since Carter was president?

We used to give directions that worked:“Go past Buddy Gray’s old place, turn where the mailbox leans, and if you cross the creek twice you’ve gone too far.”

That never failed.

Now I’ve got a voice tellin’ me to “recalculate” like I’m the one who built the road crooked.

And don’t even get me started on smart homes.

My house don’t need to be smart.It just needs to mind its business.

If I wanted somethin’ watching’ me all the time and judgin’ my decisions, I’d just set on the courthouse steps."

I don’t need a refrigerator tellin’ me I’m low on milk.I know I’m low.I drank it.

I dang sure don’t need a light bulb judgin’ me for still bein’ awake at midnight.

But the final straw came when somebody told me, “Just scan the QR code.”

Now listen.If the information won’t tell me what it is without me scannin’ somethin’, signin’ up, creatin’ a password, and confirm­ing my email — I probably didn’t need to know it in the first place.

Back when we wanted information, we asked a person.And if they didn’t know, they guessed — confidently.And half the time, they were close enough.

Now everything’s behind a QR code like it’s a secret society.

I reckon one of these days we’ll have QR codes on front porches:“Scan here to find out who lives here and what they’re mad about.”

Truth is, we used to live in a time when things were simple.You paid cash.You asked directions.Your house stayed quiet unless it was fallin’ apart.

And folks looked you in the eye instead of a screen.

Progress ain’t all bad.But I believe we’ve reached the point where we made things so smart… they forgot how to be neighborly.

And if a machine ever asks me about my gout, I might trust it.

Until then, I’ll be over here payin’ for my cornmeal the old-fashioned way —confused, polite, and still tryin’ to find the bagging area.