In the 'toon, a robot escorts a young woman out of a building. An elevator door is visible in the building's lobby. In the woman's arms is a cardboard box filled, one assumes, with personal possessions.
The cartoon's title: "2046: Final human job replaced by robot."
A century before that date, in the late 1940's, when I was in junior high school and my deep sci-fi period, all the wonders of the future were reserved for the 21st Century. We would have flying cars and space travel and robots to wash the dishes, mow the lawn, and dust under the bed. I figured with a little luck I might live long enough to see it.
I did. I didn't find flying cars but semi-self driving and/or crashing cars; not space travel but intercontinental ballistic missiles; and robots. The robots are freaking everybody out.
Because if the robots do all the work, what about you? (This doesn't disturb me, of course.) If you don't work you don't have money; if you don't have money you don't have Netflix. Somehow, nobody thought of that.
Well, actually, somebody did, about the time I was in junior high school. Nobody cared.
Sooner or later somebody will have to.
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