If you own both, you probably rethink this every morning while your eyes are still adjusting to the light. Nine days out of ten either one is fine, and that is exactly why it takes so long. With no obvious tiebreaker you stand at the mirror running a small forecast on fog, rain, dry office air, how much screen time is coming, and whether you feel like looking at your own face without frames on it.
Glasses usually mean less fuss and a face people recognize, with the trade of fogging over a hot drink, sliding down your nose in the heat, and getting in the way of a helmet or a hood. Contacts usually mean a clear field of view with nothing on your nose, in exchange for a small morning ritual, dry eyes by hour ten, and the discipline to take them out when you are tired at midnight.
The wheel has just the two slices, so it settles the coin-flip mornings in one tap. It is not eye-care advice and it knows nothing about your prescription, your dryness, or how long your lenses are rated to be worn. If your optometrist has told you to limit lens wear, or the day involves swimming or a red-eye flight, that instruction beats any spin. For the ordinary days, let it choose and go and get dressed.