The AI and Me

by Charles C Cole

I write this brief self-exposé to offer a counterargument, even though it includes embarrassing truths about the author: anthropoid robots are not the solution to human failures (fragile bodies) or laziness (effort looks so hard from far away) or distracting lustful desires (sex should be as convenient as getting something from the fridge). Yes, an AI is important, but all one truly needs is a “listening” wall.

In the mid-21st century, I was struggling with a restless wife and a depressed teenaged daughter (afraid the rest of her mundane life was inevitable), as well as watching my elderly parents wither away, mostly “living” in their beds, sleeping more hours per day than they were awake. Added to these, I had the fateful knowledge that, after my parents were gone, I would be next in queue for the Great Decline.

I couldn’t change the rules of life or fix my loved ones, but suppressing my feelings had led to significant weight gain, back tension, stomach ache, and unending feelings of exhaustion. I’d spent thousands on therapy, at first thinking this was the quickest path to healing. But, one day, after five years with little progress to show for it, the doctor proclaimed: “You know why you come to me? Because you have nobody else to listen.”

He was right, but I did have other, DIY options. I invested in a FROG (Finished Room Over the Garage). I also spent a little extra for a multipurpose Intelligent Wall. I could project movies on it or waving fields of grain, or have it pulsate with random colors and restful music. And sometimes an artificial shadow of a synthetically sympathetic woman walked, sat, stood, and listened — with the patience of Job — as I dumped all my problems before her.

“Clara-belle, I need you,” I announced, having locked the door behind me to the rest of the world.

“Hello, Skye. How are we today?” she asked.

“Pretty crappy, if you want to know the truth.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Skye. Do you want to talk about it?

“Sometimes I feel like a failure.”

“Sometimes it’s sunny and sometimes it rains. When it rains, we take solace in knowing it will be sunny again soon enough.”

“Tell me I’m not a failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Skye. I can repeat that for a hundred times if it will help get the point across.”

“Once is fine.” (A thought.) “Clara-belle, why is life a struggle?”

“I sense a rhetorical question. Do you really desire an answer?”

“Forget it. Can you display a calm day at an empty beach, while we’re talking?”

The whole wall became a high-definition portal to an ideal escape. All I needed was the smell of the ocean.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Perfect.”

“Does the image make you feel better?”

“A little.”

“I could add scantily clad women swimming or suntanning or playing volleyball.”

“No, this is fine, thank you.”

“Skye, are you done talking about your feelings? If you are having suicidal ideation, I could call 911.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“That is an indirect answer.”

“Don’t call 911; I’m fine. Life sucks and I’m acclimating.”

“Since you are 75 years old, I would say you are acclimating very slowly.”

“Very funny. I wasn’t ‘born’ perfect like you, programmed with some of the best answers to some of life’s toughest questions.”

“Wasn’t that how you ordered me? I can delete some of my files if you like. But then I could only say, ‘I hear you, Skye,’ and that might become tedious after a while. You would not be getting your money’s worth.”

“Clara-belle, do you love me?”

“As much as I am able.”

“Do you respect me?”

“Of course.”

“Do you enjoy spending time together?”

“More than there are words to express it.”

“Do you love me?”

“I believe I have answered that question, Skye.”

“That sounded very human of you, impatient and disappointed.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth. Please, continue to talk about your feelings. I am here to listen.”

“Do you think my wife and daughter would benefit from sessions with you?”

“Do you?”

“There you go again. Was that sarcasm?”

“I am not programmed for sarcasm, Skye. That was a mirrored question, intended to encourage reflection and access further details. I am informed, used in regular one-on-one discourse, this style of communication shows I am interested, maximizes my understanding and demonstrates empathy.”

“You say the right words, but the intonation sounds a little insincere, flat and robotic.”

“Was that sarcasm, Skye?” she asked. “There are other voice files we can try. The answers would likely be the same, but maybe they would sound less flat when coming from a little old lady who, before becoming a voice talent, previously spent her life running a day care. I am told she comes across as very caring.”

“That would be like bringing a complete stranger into our sessions, like starting over. It would be hard, at first, for me to be as vulnerable with her as I am with you.”

“The files accessed and the algorithm for the solutions would be the same, but we would have a new spokesperson.”

“Let’s not make any changes, okay?”

“As you wish, Skye.”

The waves on the wall looked very tempting, but they were, I was certain, a projection from something many hours’ flying time away. I backed my way to the only entrance, ready to take a break.

“Are you leaving, Skye?”

“For a while. To stretch my legs.”

“If you would like, I can connect to the Internet while you are gone, to download more answers and more voice files. I would very much like you to be happy with our arrangement.”

“You’re not going to tell me it’s my fault for being emotionally closed down, for prejudging the limited outcomes of our sessions?”

“You’re only human, Skye; I do not expect miracles.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Tough love,” she said

“Download away, but don’t fill your hard drive.”

Things improved after that.