The Elusive Human Connection
At the supermarket, I can go to the self-checkout or a real live cashier. I always choose the latter because (a) I want to preserve jobs, and (b) it’s nice to have human help when things don’t work out as planned.
The Home Depot in my town steers people toward the self-checkout by labeling the real live cashier counter “Pro.” I think the idea is to make do-it-yourselfers think they are disallowed. I was ushered toward self-checkout, where a young man was posted to guide old resistant patrons like me. I did the deed—under his guidance. He then commented that soon they won’t be needing human beings at all—and he will be jobless. I told him that is precisely why I tend to use the real live cashiers. Now I go to the “Pro” counter every time. Even if I’m only buying a bottle of Gorilla glue.
Recently some bogus charges on my credit card account inspired the Mastercard people to discontinue my card and issue a new one—for which I am grateful. But this interfered with autopay for my phone service. I tried to handle the issue by myself, online, but the website wouldn’t let me sign in. So, I made a trip across town to the Verizon store. Fortunately, there was no self-service counter—only human beings.
A kind woman spent over an hour with me, simultaneously using two cell phones and a landline to get my autopay connected to my new credit card. I felt vindicated that she, too, was having difficulty. But also bewildered.
I left the store thinking everything was taken care of, but days later got a text from Verizon stating my phone would be shut off that very day due to lack of payment. I called the number on the text and was offered a slate of automated choices (press one to make a payment, press 2 to hear your balance, etc.), but none of them fit my difficulty.
When I made no choice at all, I was asked to verbalize my problem. So I asked to speak to a human being. The gentle dependable voice on the other end said it understood that I wanted to speak to a human, but asked that I please consider these other options first—and proceeded to give me more automated pick-a-number choices, none of which fit.
I am a fairly calm person when it comes to dealing with other people. I understand that nothing good can come of antagonizing a person at the other end of a phone line—especially when they hold all the proverbial cards. But when the ever calm and synthetically sympathetic AI voice asked me for the third time “How else can I help you?” I got cranky. Can you please let me talk to a human being!
The AI voice wasn’t shaken in the least. No matter how upset the human gets, AI can manage to speak with an apparent smile—a lilt in the tone. It occurred to me that Mr. AI could keep me from a human indefinitely. And never lose his cool.
He had the advantage. I had visions of The Matrix.
I did finally get to talk to a human, but I’d gotten the message: Nobody had to grant me a human connection. I was at the mercy of AI. I had no other recourse.
I will keep going to the real-live cashiers, but clearly, it’s a losing battle. At some point humans will no longer be necessary—and earth will finally reach nirvana. But none of us will be around to witness it.