Sky Gilbert is a poet, novelist, playwright, filmmaker, theatre director, and drag queen extraordinaire.  He was co-founder and artistic director of Toronto’s Buddies in Bad Times Theatre — one of the world’s largest gay and lesbian theatres — from 1979 to 1997. He has had more than 40 plays produced, and written 10 critically acclaimed novels and three award winning poetry collections.

On that Robot Waiter at Cora’s…

This could have happened anywhere. I don’t mean to demonize Cora’s. I love their breakfasts, and especially I love the nice picture of that nice lady who is apparently ‘Cora’ — a master chef it seems — but also, a very motherly figure to boot.

No. Cora’s is fine. But they had the bad luck to host my first encounter with a robot waiter, which I’m afraid does not bode well for the future of humanity.

So there I was (and the place was busy) waiting for my friend Michele. My mouth was watering, I was thinking I might even order a waffle. Then I saw it, rounding a corner. It followed a waiter. It stopped at a table, and the waiter leaned down and picked up a breakfast. Later I saw the robot waiter scooting around all by itself, and yes, people were just yanking their breakfasts off it.

Don’t get me wrong. This was no ‘R2D2’ or ‘Rosie’ from The Jetsons. It was basically a set of shelves on wheels, about a yard high.

But I started panicking.

Lately I’ve been thinking —not so much about the future of waiters — but about bartenders. And some bartender told me that there is a bar somewhere that serves drinks out of what they used to call an ‘automat’ (at the old Horn and Hardart). I thought: ‘but who am I going to tell my troubles to?’ I thought of all the poetry that chronicles the incalculably poignant bond between a lonely guy and a bartender — including Hemingway’s story A Clean Well-Lighted Place (”Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be someone who needs the cafe”), and Johnny Mercer’s heartbreaking One for My Baby (“It’s quarter to three, there’s no one in the place, ‘cept you and me”)…

But waiters are important too, for a ton of reasons.

First, they offer jobs for young people and actors —that is anyone looking for a flexible schedule. However being a waiter was not always the respectable thing it is today. I was in a seminar taught by Canadian novelist Robertson Davies in 1989 at the University of Toronto. He and his wife invited us to lunch in the ‘don’s dining room’ for the final class. In his usual, sweet, somewhat ‘Anglo-constipated’ manner, Davies asked each of us what our plans were for the summer. One girl said ‘Well, for awhile I’ll continue working at my waitressing job,’ to which Davis tactlessly replied — “How unfortunate for you.” His tactful wife rushed to his rescue.”You know dear, being a waitress is not the unfortunate job it used to be. Some quite respectable people are waiters and waitresses.”

“I had no idea.” replied Davies — whose sensibility had obviously been locked deep in an Edwardian tomb for decades.

There are two reasons I’ll miss waiters. I think of my Dad. He had an excess of personality, even for an insurance salesman. But he was never lonely, because every day, for him, was another social adventure. A stop at the local variety store meant a bit of friendly banter with the clerk — then there was the bus driver, and of course the postman. And with waiters, even if they didn’t have any personality, my father pretended they did, and talked their ear off. He was undiscouraged even by a quiet waiter.

Finally, we come to my poor, lonely, somewhat unfuckable self (I’m older now but still gay as the day!). Who am I to flirt with? No, I mean that quite honestly. Don’t get me wrong — I would never victimize some poor, hot, captive waiter, but there are shitloads of flirty ones who bat their eyes at you, and mince about in a proud and obviously gay manner, or just shake the booty shamelessly as if they don’t notice they are doing so (and yet they certainly do). What’s an old fag to do?

Seriously folks. The robot waiter — that magical moving shelf at Cora’s — means one thing, and one thing only. Soon all the love in the world will be gone. Nobody wants to connect anymore — ‘just for the sake of connecting.’ But we are human, and if COVID taught us nothing else, it was that our race will die without human contact. But at the moment the ‘Digital Industrial Complex’ is doing everything it can to take that human contact away.

Never mind AI.

The robot waiters will do us in.