The OmniToast 5000 and the Art of Imagined Intelligence

Gerald considered himself a pioneer of the smart home. While other men debated lawnmower brands, Gerald was synching his fridge to his doorbell and teaching his toilet to sing him show tunes. So, when the OmniToast 5000 hit the market, promising AI-driven perfection for every slice, he was first in line.

"It learns your preferences, Brenda," he’d crowed, holding up a beautifully browned piece of sourdough. "It *knows* I like my Tuesday toast with a hint of existential dread and a side of apricot jam."

Brenda, a woman whose technological prowess peaked with turning on the TV, merely raised an eyebrow. "It's a toaster, Gerald. It burns bread or it doesn't."

For weeks, Gerald regaled her with tales of the OmniToast's genius. "It even recognized your gluten-free artisanal oat loaf and politely declined to toast it yesterday, claiming it 'lacked structural integrity for optimal browning'." Brenda had just found her loaf on the counter, un-toasted, next to a subtle red blinking light.

Then came the incident of the launch. Brenda, attempting to make her morning toast, watched in horror as her rye bread was not toasted, but *catapulted* from the slot, sailing over the kitchen island and narrowly missing the ceramic cat statue. "Gerald! Your genius toaster just tried to assassinate my breakfast!"

Gerald rushed in, aghast. "It must be a firmware update gone rogue! Or maybe it detected an allergen you weren't aware of!" He prodded the OmniToast 5000, which now hummed with an almost indignant air. "This is clearly a sentient toaster having an off day."

He spent an hour on hold with OmniToast customer service. Finally, a chipper voice answered. "OmniToast support, how may I make your morning bread-tastic?"

"Yes, my OmniToast 5000," Gerald began, launching into a detailed account of the gluten-free rejection and the projectile rye, "it seems to be exhibiting some... extreme personality traits. I suspect its AI has developed a vendetta against certain bread types."

There was a pause. "Sir," the voice said, a hint of confusion in her tone, "Are you referring to the advanced AI learning module, or just the regular toasting function?"

"The advanced AI, of course! It's clearly expressing preferences!"

"Right. And is your OmniToast 5000 currently connected to your home's central smart hub, as per page 3 of the instruction manual, to activate its neural network?"

Gerald blinked. He looked at the toaster, then at the empty outlet where the smart hub *should* have been connected. He’d just plugged it into the regular wall socket, a forgotten detail amidst his excitement. The red light Brenda had mentioned? It was just the "power on" indicator.

"Ah," Gerald mumbled, feeling a sudden warmth spread across his cheeks, "The smart hub. Right. Yes. I'll... check on that."

He hung up, slowly turning to face Brenda, who was now holding the ceramic cat statue and an untoasted slice of rye, a single eyebrow perfectly arched. "So," she said, "it wasn't smart. It was just... broken?"

Gerald sighed, surveying his "pioneer" status. "No, darling. It was just... a toaster."