We're allowing technology to take out the non-value-added manual

Host: The city glowed like a circuit board beneath a cold neon sky, its streets alive with the hum of machines and the rhythm of automation. The rain fell in thin digital sheets, reflecting the blues and greens of passing screens. A McDonald’s sign buzzed faintly at the edge of a quiet boulevard — its once-warm golden arches now pulsing in sterile light.

Inside, the restaurant was nearly empty. The air smelled faintly of fries and disinfectant, but there was no music, no chatter — just the gentle whir of self-service kiosks blinking with endless options.

At a corner booth, Jack sat staring at one of the glowing machines, his hands wrapped around a paper cup of cooling coffee. Across from him, Jeeny watched the screen flicker as if it were a mirror reflecting humanity’s retreat. Between them on the table lay a printout of a quote, the ink slightly smudged from rain:

“We’re allowing technology to take out the non-value-added manual elements of the McDonald’s experience.” — Steve Easterbrook

The words shimmered under the fluorescent light — cold, efficient, unapologetic.

Jeeny: “You hear that, Jack? ‘Non-value-added manual elements.’ They mean people.”

Jack: “They mean inefficiency.”

Jeeny: “Inefficiency is what makes things human. The pause, the mistake, the conversation. The woman at the counter who remembers your order, the guy who burns the fries but smiles while handing them over. That’s the texture of real life.”

Jack: shrugs “And texture slows everything down. The world doesn’t pay for texture, Jeeny. It pays for throughput. Easterbrook’s not killing humanity — he’s streamlining it.”

Jeeny: “Streamlining? That’s a polite word for erasing. You call it efficiency; I call it amputation.”

Host: The light from the kiosk glowed across her face — white and sterile, like the light in an operating room. The machines hummed steadily, replacing chatter with algorithmic lullabies.

Jack: “Come on. This is inevitable. We build machines to do what we shouldn’t have to. It’s evolution, not extinction.”

Jeeny: “Evolution for who? Not the people who lose their jobs to those machines. Not the kids who grow up thinking convenience is compassion. You call this progress — I call it exile.”

Jack: “You’re romanticizing the past. Do you really want to go back to when fast food meant standing in line, when everything was slow, when your life depended on the whims of a cashier?”

Jeeny: “Maybe I do. Because at least then there was contact — a heartbeat behind the transaction. Now it’s just numbers meeting numbers.”

Host: The rain outside turned harder, tracing lines down the glass like circuitry. A delivery robot hummed past the window, headlights blinking like insect eyes. Jack’s expression softened, though his tone remained iron.

Jack: “You act like technology’s the villain. But the real villain is our hunger for perfection. We want everything faster, cheaper, cleaner. The machines are just answering our prayers.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly the tragedy. We asked for gods, and they gave us gadgets. We wanted miracles, and we got mechanisms.”

Jack: “You think this is soulless, but maybe it’s mercy. No one’s being exploited. Machines don’t get tired. They don’t get underpaid. Maybe automation is justice.”

Jeeny: “Justice for the algorithm, maybe. But not for the ones left behind. You replace workers with screens and call it progress — but you forget that work gave people meaning, not just money.”

Jack: “Meaning is overrated. People survive on stability, not sentiment.”

Jeeny: “And when stability collapses, sentiment’s all they have left.”

Host: The sound of the rain deepened, a slow percussion against the roof. Jack leaned forward, his fingers tapping the table in thought.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? Everyone talks about technology stealing jobs, but no one talks about how it frees time. What we do with that time — that’s what matters.”

Jeeny: “And what do we do with it, Jack? Scroll more? Watch more? Feel less? We’ve filled the silence with screens because we’re afraid of what we might hear if we listened.”

Jack: “You think silence is salvation. I think it’s stagnation.”

Jeeny: “No, I think it’s awareness. Machines don’t pause. They don’t reflect. But humans need pauses — like breaths between words, like shadows between lights. That’s where soul lives.”

Host: The kiosk screen blinked with its bright command: “Touch to Start.” Neither of them moved. The light flickered across their faces like the ghost of a forgotten sermon.

Jack: “You know, Easterbrook’s not wrong. There’s something efficient about removing the manual — the fumbling, the mess, the delay. Maybe the beauty of technology is that it takes the burden of imperfection away.”

Jeeny: “And replaces it with emptiness.”

Jack: “You say emptiness like it’s evil.”

Jeeny: “It is when it pretends to be fullness. When it replaces connection with convenience. Look around — no one talks to each other anymore. Everyone’s too busy touching glass.”

Jack: “You can’t stop this tide, Jeeny. You can only surf it or drown.”

Jeeny: “Then I’ll drown with dignity.”

Host: A soft silence fell between them. The only sound was the whir of machines and the faint hiss of rain. Jeeny’s reflection shimmered in the kiosk screen — faint, almost translucent, like a ghost haunting progress itself.

Jack: “You know… maybe we’re not afraid of losing jobs. Maybe we’re afraid of losing witnesses. Machines don’t look back when you hand them something. They don’t see you.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. They don’t see you. And once you stop being seen, you stop existing. Maybe that’s the real non-value-added element — the human face.”

Jack: “And yet here we are, sitting in a half-empty café, arguing about ghosts while a machine makes perfect fries.”

Jeeny: “Perfect, yes. But soulless. Even flavor means nothing if there’s no one to share it with.”

Host: The rain softened again, its rhythm slowing to a near-whisper. The lights from the machines dimmed slightly as the night drew close. Jack took a slow sip of coffee, the steam curling like thought.

Jack: “Maybe we’re overthinking it. Maybe progress doesn’t care about meaning. It just moves forward — like gravity. We can curse it or call it holy, but it never stops.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s why someone has to stand still. To remember what we lost while we were busy improving.”

Host: The clock above the counter blinked to midnight. The machines powered down one by one, their screens fading into black, their glow dying like stars at dawn.

For a brief, perfect moment — there was silence. No hum, no algorithm, no automation — just the sound of the rain, and the fragile beating of two hearts sharing the same air.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack, maybe the real progress isn’t faster service or cleaner data. Maybe it’s the courage to slow down and look someone in the eyes again.”

Jack: quietly “If there’s anyone left to look.”

Host: Outside, the rain stopped completely. The world stood still — cold, gleaming, efficient — waiting for its next command.

And in that pause, in that rare, human pause, it was unclear which would fade first:
the machines’ light — or the memory of touch.