This Alabama Man Wants A Big Robot ASAP

We're happy to introduce one of our newest contributors at Townsquare Media Tuscaloosa, Mike McKenzie.

I was listening to Steve and DC this morning when they mentioned that Elon Musk says Tesla is pivoting away from electric cars and toward humanoid robots.

And I thought, finally.
Not “finally” as in this is a good business decision.
“Finally”, as in my childhood, has been validated.

Because I have wanted a robot my entire life.

This is not a new thought. This isn’t some midlife crisis brought on by smart thermostats and self-checkout lanes. This goes all the way back to Lost in Space, where Will Robinson had a robot whose sole purpose in life seemed to be yelling, “Danger, Will Robinson!” — which, frankly, would be useful in my house. In my home, the three most dangerous words are “some assembly required.”

Then there was Forbidden Planet. Walter Pidgeon and Anne Francis had Robbie the Robot, polite, efficient, and capable of doing basically everything – including distilling 100-proof rocket bourbon. And of course, Star Wars sealed the deal. Luke Skywalker didn’t survive five minutes without R2-D2 and C-3PO. One fixed the ship. The other complained about it. A perfect balance.

I want that.

Not a killer robot. Not a world-dominating robot. Just a robo-pal.

First and foremost: errands.
Late-night snack runs, specifically.

Do you know how much money I spend on DoorDash because I want something salty at 10:47 p.m.? It’s obscene. At this point, I should own stock. With a humanoid robot, I’d just say, “Hey buddy, go get me chips and salsa,” and boom — problem solved. No delivery fees. No tip guilt. No, wondering why a burrito costs $38.

Second: laundry.

I hate folding laundry.
Hate it.

I don’t just dislike it. I actively suck at it. My T-shirts look like they were folded during turbulence. Shorts? Forget it. Towels are just rolled lies. And don’t even get me started on fitted sheets, which are clearly a prank invented by someone who hates humanity.

But my robot?
My robot would love folding laundry.

My shorts would look pressed. My socks and underwear drawer would be organised with surgical precision. There would be sections. Possibly labels. My robot would open the drawer, pause, tilt its head slightly, and think, “Yes. This is acceptable.”

Third: dog poop patrol.

I love my dog. I do not love what my dog leaves behind.

I don’t need my robot to vacuum the house or cook gourmet meals. I just want it to walk the perimeter of the backyard like a suburban Terminator and quietly neutralise landmines before I step on one in flip-flops.

Is that too much to ask of the future?

I don’t think so.

Now, let’s be clear: I understand reality. We’re not there yet. The robots being talked about right now are for factories, warehouses, and jobs that involve steel-toe boots and clipboards. These things are going to cost more than my first three cars combined.

And I also understand that the consumer-grade robot — the one that runs errands, folds laundry, and keeps my yard livable — is still a ways off. It has to get cheaper. Smarter. Safer. And ideally, less judgmental.

Because I don’t need my robot silently watching me eat nachos at midnight and recording it for science.

Still, the fact that this conversation is happening at all? That’s wild.

We went from flying cars being the big futuristic promise to realising, nah, what we really want is help with daily life. Not glamour. Relief.

When the affordable home robot finally arrives, it won’t be marketed as revolutionary technology. It’ll be marketed as:

“Never fold laundry again.”

“Never pick up dog poop again.”

“Never pay $42 for cold fries again.”

And I’ll be first in line.

Until then, I’ll keep folding my shirts badly, stepping carefully in the backyard, and tipping my DoorDash driver like they’re part of the family — while quietly waiting for the day I can say:

“Robot: snack run to Krispy Kreme.”

And hear back: