We live in a truly revolutionary time. Not revolutionary in the barricades-and-pitchforks sense, but in the “Did my refrigerator just tell me I’m out of oat milk?” sense. Yes, folks, welcome to the age of smart.

It started subtly, didn’t it? A “smart” car that could parallel park for you, mostly successfully. Then came the “smart” TV, offering a labyrinth of streaming services you’d spend half the night navigating. Now? We’re knee-deep in a silicon-infused symphony of appliances that are less about making life easier and more about making you feel like the dumbest person in your own darn kitchen.

My smart stove, for instance, is a technological marvel. I can preheat it from my phone on the way home. Fantastic! Except for the three times it’s decided, on its own accord, to enter “pizza mode” at 3 AM, waking the dog and giving me a mild heart attack. I’m pretty sure my old, decidedly unsmart stove never had existential cravings for a deep dish.

Then there’s the smart washer and dryer. They can detect the fabric of your clothes and adjust the cycle accordingly. Impressive! Until they get into a passive-aggressive argument about whether that slightly-worn t-shirt is “delicate” or “sturdy” and then just… stop. Leaving you with a drum full of damp, confused cotton. I miss the simple days of “hot,” “cold,” and “knob goes to the right.”

And the smart house? Don’t even get me started. My lights flicker with a mind of their own, my thermostat has declared independence and now operates on Martian time, and my front door lock seems to enjoy playing a nightly game of “guess the code” even though it’s the same code it’s had since installation. It’s less a smart house and more a poltergeist with Wi-Fi.

But the pinnacle of this “smart” revolution, the real pièce de résistance, isn’t the talking toaster or the self-vacuuming robot. Oh no. It’s the proliferation of smart asses.

Think about it. We’re surrounded by them, both digital and organic. We’ve got the comments section warriors armed with their “facts” (gleaned from questionable corners of the internet) ready to pounce on any perceived intellectual misstep. We have AI chatbots delivering confidently incorrect information with the unwavering conviction of a seasoned know-it-all. And let’s not forget the actual humans who, emboldened by the sum total of human knowledge at their fingertips (which they mostly use to argue about the correct way to hang toilet paper), are always ready to offer an unsolicited opinion, a condescending remark, or a thinly veiled insult disguised as helpful advice.

Maybe it’s the constant interaction with machines that are supposed to be smarter than us that’s rubbing off. Or perhaps the sheer volume of readily available (and often conflicting) information is creating a generation convinced of their own omnipotence. Whatever the reason, the ratio of genuinely intelligent individuals to those who simply think they are has skewed dramatically towards the latter.

So, here we are, living in homes that can probably order their own groceries but can’t reliably turn on a lamp, driving cars that can navigate complex roadways but can’t seem to remember our preferred radio station, and constantly interacting with a world teeming with individuals who possess the smug assurance of a supercomputer running on dial-up.

Perhaps the next “smart” innovation should be a device that detects and politely mutes actual smart asses. Now that would be a truly revolutionary technology. Until then, I’ll just be over here, trying to explain to my smart fridge for the tenth time that yes, I do know we’re out of oat milk, and no, I don’t appreciate the sarcastic suggestion to try soy. Some days, I just miss the blissful ignorance of a truly dumb appliance. And maybe a slightly less opinionated world.