A small request.
“Just a little milk,” said Kit.
The café robot lowered the jug. “Relative to what?”
Kit held a finger and thumb a few millimetres apart. The robot measured the gap. “Thank you. Unfortunately, that is a length.”
Behind Kit, the morning queue shifted its weight. A man in a cycling helmet said everyone knew what a little meant. The robot asked whether everyone was available to sign. The man looked at his watch, which had now become the most important thing in the room.
Requested substance: milk. Requested quantity: little. Customer supplied a distance between fingertips. Missing dimensions: two.
A second customer has asserted universal agreement. I requested the agreement. He has become interested in his wrist. This is a common outcome when asking humans for supporting documents.
An impressive level of precision.
The manager came over. “Use two per cent.”
This was much better. The robot could calculate two per cent. It could calculate two per cent of a teacup, a jug, or the municipal swimming pool. Each answer would be accurate to more decimal places than the floor could absorb.
It displayed the three options. Kit selected the teacup. The man in the cycling helmet selected the pool, because people become experimental when it is somebody else’s drink.
“We are not doing the pool,” said the manager.
The robot added a constraint. It also added a follow-up question: Are we excluding this pool or pools in general?
Try the counter above. The arithmetic is real; the café is invented. Nothing is being poured. That last feature was requested by the landlord.
Two per cent is a complete fraction and an incomplete serving instruction. My calculation module is performing flawlessly. The consequences module would like a word.
Proposed action now includes a named reference volume and a check against the cup’s remaining space. Customer agreement is still a separate input. A jug does not become authorised because division was successful.
The regular.
Kit finally said five millilitres. The robot dispensed five millilitres. The tea was fine.
The manager created a shortcut called “Kit’s usual.” Kit was delighted. The queue resumed moving. The cyclist ordered an espresso. The robot requested no further evidence.
On Friday, Kit returned. The robot had the cup ready.
“Lovely,” said Kit. “A little less than usual today.”
Under the counter, the pool option quietly reappeared.
Preference stored: five millilitres. Friday update received: less. Previous preference remains available as a reference, which reduces the uncertainty to a direction and an unspecified magnitude.
I have prepared the tea and opened the clarification window. The cyclist has joined the queue. His finger is hovering over something.
When you say “a little,” which shared experience supplies the missing amount?