Lately, I have been reflecting on the inestimable advancements brought to us by technology. This inquiry is propelled by the fact that I have been unable to retrieve the dew-soaked plastic bag containing my newspaper for the last four mornings.
I tried using both the chat and text functions listed on the publisher’s web page to report my issue. Neither worked. When I called the customer service line, a hesitant electronic voice tried to help, then gave up, citing “technical difficulties.” He/she/they transferred me to a customer service representative who was difficult to understand. After a torturous exchange during which I finally understood my case had been “escalated,” I was told to have a nice day. I have been escalated three times. My elevation has not yet delivered the morning paper.
Two days ago, I received a text message from my pharmacy letting me know that my prescription for an anti-anxiety medication could not be refilled. I found this curious, because I had not requested a substance to quell my disquietude, although the text created a reality in which such a compound might be necessary.
I called the pharmacy at 12:55 pm. After a five-minute encounter with an electronic voice that I finally dissuaded from helping me after multiple attempts, I was transferred to the pharmacy. They didn’t pick up because they were on lunch break until after 1:30 pm.
At 1:31 pm, after another endless electronic encounter, and some elevator music, I talked to a nice young man who investigated my situation. “Ah yes,” he said, you have no such medication. We have a crummy system. It does that sometimes.”
I told him that I was relieved that my account had not been hacked by a Chinese spy balloon. After I hung up, I mused that perhaps our nation’s opioid epidemic might be encouraged by an equivalent crummy system.
When you get older you begin to delight in the smallest diversions, like being able to put on your socks without snagging your little toenail or eating yogurt without spoiling your t‑shirt. Lately, one of my wildest amusements occurs at the grocery self-check-out line. Being a woke consumer, my trips to the store are always accompanied by canvas tote bags. Try as I might, I have never been able to attach a sack to the metal plastic bag holder without the automatic female voice asking, “did you place bags in the bagging area?”
I feel I have gotten to know this phantom voice pretty well. I would expect that after years of taking my picture, counting the items I place in my tote, weighing my honey crisps, and linking it all to my shopping number and credit card, she would know damn well I am putting my own bag in the bagging area. I think the satisfaction of me pressing her “yes” button outweighs her desire to have a more understanding relationship.
I know the dis-ease I speak of is placing me dangerously close to blatant red on the curmudgeon Richter scale. Honestly, I try to retain my humanity when technology attempts to ruin my day. Ultimately, behind the bots and circuit boards, there are people making a living trying to service my needs for a newspaper, medicine, and broccoli heads. I get that.
If only technology could take one step further to be just a smidgen more human – if the newspaper’s chat function really worked the first time, or if the pharmacy caught its mistake before alarm bells sounded, or if the grocery chain welcomed a cloth bag instead of expecting you to waste more plastic.
Call me old fashioned, but I really like a world without ChatGPT (which had nothing to do with this apologia).
