By Madison Hunt | Staff Writer
Scroll long enough, and you’ll see the pattern — social feeds reward whatever spikes emotion fastest, and the quicker clicks draw for selective outrage on anything robotic or electric. This school year, that turned toward the Grubhub robots on campus, with posts mocking their boxy silhouettes, to even the way they hesitated at crosswalks.
The first time I noticed the hate, it never dwelt on it. A robot with a rounded lid and blinking lights approached a crosswalk, paused, inched forward and paused again. It was easy and frictionless to read through the comments of hatred.
On campus, the robots had become ordinary: orange and white coolers on wheels humming along the bricks, murmuring in a polite chime that sounded like a tiny xylophone. Last year, students barely looked up when one rolled past. But online, their cautious movements and chirpy voices looked more like a joke.
In 2024, the Grubhub robots were phased out from campus eateries besides Chick-fil-A and Panda Express. For instance, the robots used to be a hub for Starbucks in Moody Library, but the robot technology received many complaints in the past about its quality and efficiency.
Even though the robots aren’t perfect — like humans — the idea behind bringing Starship robots to campus is to provide a convenient, efficient food-delivery option for students and the broader campus community.
With finals looming, those little delivery robots become quiet study allies: they shave off the 20-40 minutes you’d spend trekking across campus and waiting in lines and quick meals straight to the library steps or your study nook so you can stay in the flow. Their predictable ETAs help you plan breaks between practice exams and late-night runs, meaning you’re not walking across campus in the cold after midnight when you’re exhausted.
Group study sessions get smoother — no herding everyone out for food, and students with mobility challenges or tight back-to-back exams keep the same access to hot meals as anyone else. On rough-weather days, they spare you soggy shoes; on high-stress days, they reduce decision fatigue. In a week when attention is your scarcest resource, the robots quietly give some of it back.
Online hate feels like a different algorithm, as it has never been on the back end of a joke. But the jokes mask a bigger anxiety — technology is growing quietly, not in flashy sci-fi ways.
It’s easier to laugh at a box on wheels than to admit an unknown into the future of technology. We’re already negotiating with algorithms for our attention; of course, a moving, talking thing pushes that discomfort to the sidewalk. Social media thrives on quick takes and big feelings, so mild usefulness never stands a chance against a meme.
Out here, though, the robots aren’t replacing anyone in my life; they’re just filling gaps — late nights, bad weather, limited mobility, the messiness of a campus day. I’m not saying they’re perfect; sometimes they pause too long, sometimes they crowd a curb. But the utility is tangible, and the fear feels curated. Finals week taught me that, sometimes, the most powerful tech isn’t the kind that dazzles — it’s the kind that quietly gives you back an hour, a warm meal and a little more room to breathe.
Mockery is easy, but maturing is better. Progress won’t wait for our sarcasm, and the best way to shape it is to participate in it. Choose curiosity over cynicism, utility over loathing and pragmatic optimism over performative doubt. The ride is moving either way — grab the handlebars and help steer instead of shouting from the sidewalk.
