Thursday, December 14, 2017

Paranoia Strikes Deep: The Short Life And Lonely Death of Juicero

I've been thinking about the demise of the entire Juicero project lately.

For the three people in the world not in the know, Juicero was a Silicon Valley tech startup that proposed to answer the problem of getting fresh juice by selling you a $700 mechanized press, and a subscription service that you would buy which provided fresh vegetables and fruit in a pouch. They burned through a lot of venture capital and shut down, last year, I believe.

Insert the handy pouch in your $700 press, start the cycle and collect a glass full of fresh wholesome juice-I dunno, broccoli or artichoke juice,-whereas ordinary mortals like me have to either go to the grocery store and buy a carton of OJ or make do with a terribly low tech blender like the kind the Waring folks made-no relation, by the way.

Once fortified, you could hang out by the mailbox for your next delivery of Juicero pouches. The environmental question of what to do with all those empty plastic Juicero bladders was left unanswered for the most part.

Juicero never really caught on and was lampooned with many a rude jest when it was found out that your hands-yes, Virginia, those funny things at the end of your arms with all those digits attached-could squeeze out about as much from a Juicero pouch and then have fun folding the $700 you just didn't spend.

So while I was reading some of the snark surrounding the demise of Juicero I happened on the fact that the Juicero was WiFi enabled.

That's right folks. What the WiFi was supposed to do is make sure that the Juicero would squeeze only legitimate authorized and official Juicero pouches.

What would happen? Imagine a call coming in to your local police department:

"Officer Quiller, this is (insert hipster name here) from Juicero Command Central Bunker Number 5.  One of our units is reporting that a counterfeit sack of rutabagas and pineapple was inserted into Unit 343 at about 3:00 am this morning, located at 1210 Maple Avenue in Windsor Heights, Iowa. It is the property of Mavis Clifford, a forty year old yoga instructor and sometime housewife who was out on a spree at a wine bar and is attempting her grandmother's sure fire hangover cure.

Just thought you could roll a unit and maybe break the door down. A taser would be just fine, thanks. G'bye."

So...your Juicero was there listening in on you all that time, taking note of your most passionate moments in the kitchen and your attempted hangover cures, silently observing, calculating, communing with Juicero Central Bunker Number 5, and deciding on the kind and level of your punishment.

And you thought it made juice.


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