Beyond the Internet of Things

by João Ventura

When the Internet of Things arrived in force, it found in Steve Bridges one of its most ardent supporters. He immediately began an active program of replacing the objects he had at home with smart devices, often against the opinion of his wife, Sheila, who did not go too far with her husband’s geekiness.

Steve often called her “info deprived” and, week in, week out, another smart object entered the Bridges’ house. It was the air conditioning that could be turned on and off via the Internet and that set the temperature and humidity considering the outside conditions; the wardrobe with direct connection to the weather forecast website and that each morning presented him with the appropriate clothing for that day; shoes who warned him when they needed to be shined; the fridge that asked very politely: “The milk is running out. Shall I order some, or will you bring some when you come back from work?”

The trend toward the generalization of the Internet of Things became more pronounced, not least because the bulk of the opponents were the older people who, in the natural order of things and despite the continuous increase in life expectancy, were slowly leaving the market. But when the situation seemed to have reached a certain stability, an innovation arose that in the short term would cause most vocational training schools to close.

The company responsible for this radical change was Wireless Skills, a spin-off from a consortium formed by the neurology departments of the five most important American universities. Wireless Skills carried out a project whose result was, after five years of intense research, an operational model of how the human brain works.

Based on this model, Wireless Skills developed a device that allowed implanting in a person’s brain the capabilities and skills of a professional. The process is top secret, but it is said that it records the brain patterns of the best professionals of each trade, and the skills are then downloaded by the clients. The skills can be chosen from a steadily expanding catalogue.

When Steve Bridges heard about the existence of this invention in a geek forum he subscribed to, he felt the urge to order a unit. Ten days later, he received via Express Mail a package with his device. It was with a feeling of happy anticipation that he initialed his name on the carrier’s tablet.

He opened the package and carefully removed all the contents, putting aside the box in case something was not in condition and needed to be returned. He checked the list accompanying the order: a helmet with several electrodes on the inside surface, a processing unit and connection cables. Steve carefully read the instruction manual — he prided himself on being meticulous in everything that concerned technology — and made the connections carefully: from the helmet to the processing unit and from there to the computer through the USB port.

As he had planned to invite his boss and wife to a dinner, which would take place over the weekend, he decided to test the newly acquired appliance by downloading the skills of a chef and preparing a fine meal for himself and his wife. He ordered the necessary ingredients online — walking the supermarket aisles picking products from the shelves was, according to Steve, a clear identifier of the “info deprived,” so they would never catch him doing that — and three hours later a delivery man from the large supermarket of which he was a customer was ringing at the door with the order.

Steve put a video camera on a tripod, to keep a record of his performance, put on the helmet and, using the password that came with the equipment, accessed the Wireless Skills website. After two or three clicks, the list of available skills started running on the screen. He clicked on the line that said “Chefs” and the screen was filled with moving colors, in a kaleidoscope that forced his eyes to fix in a hypnotic way, while he felt a tingling in his head, at the points where the electrodes touched the skull.

It took a few minutes for the colors to fade away and a message “Download completed” to appear. At the same time, the tingling in his head also stopped. Steve took off his helmet and thought: I don’t feel any different. Was it really downloaded?

Steve decided to proceed honing his new skills with his planned practice run; he would start preparing the meal he had in mind. He took the flounders out of their thermal packaging and started separating the loins from the spine. He felt like his hands were acting independently of the brain, as if they had always known how to perform those operations. He poured oil in the frying pan, took it to the ideal temperature, fried the flounder loins. He prepared a mayonnaise, which he strongly beat to the point. He was preparing the wine for the meal when his wife entered the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Training to make a meal using Wireless Skills.”

“I get that, but why are you moving the bottle that way?”

Suddenly, Steve noticed that he was vigorously shaking the bottle of Alvarinho Palácio da Brejoeira which he had selected to go along with the meal. He found his actions strange.

He stopped the shaking, connected the camcorder to the computer, and started reviewing the recording.

Right from the beginning it seemed to him that the gestures were not very appropriate for the operations he was performing. The way he had separated the loins from the spine, the manner he had stirred the mayonnaise, everything seemed out of place.

With the feeling that something must have gone wrong, Steve accessed the site again, opened the list of skills and made it slide to the Chefs line. He then noticed that the line immediately below the title was DIY. Do It Yourself! Steve felt a shiver and suddenly realized what had happened. By mistake, he had clicked on the wrong link and downloaded — and his brain had absorbed — examples of “how not to do it”!

“And now everything becomes clear!” Steve explained to Sheila. The way he had removed the loins from the flounder was much closer to the movement of a spatula scraping wallpaper than to the subtle movement with a sharp knife that he had seen several times in the Master Chef TV show. When he saw himself stirring the mayonnaise, it seemed to him that he was mixing a freshly opened can of yellow paint, and the shaking of the wine bottle that Sheila had witnessed was just what one does to a spray can before applying the paint!

Now, Steve had a problem to solve: he could only download the cooking skills that he needed after the effect of the abilities he had absorbed had passed, and according to the instruction manual the effect of the download lasted on the brain seven to ten days. But dinner was due within five days.

Sheila, who was of a pragmatic turn of mind, found the solution. “Don’t worry, I’ll make dinner for your boss. But in the meantime, while you still have those skills you’ve absorbed, we have a number of things here at home that need fixing: the bedroom shutter; the clothesline; the sagging wardrobe doors; the kitchen tap that’s always dripping. I will surely find more.”

And so it was done, because Steve had concluded that his wife’s logic was unbeatable. And on the appointed day, Sheila prepared roast kid in the oven, which she did wonderfully, as always. It was highly praised by the chief and the chief’s wife, who even asked her for the recipe.

Henceforth, Steve became more cautious in adopting technological innovations. All’s well that ends well!