Press One for Artificial Intelligence

I’m a ‘gotta-have-it-right-now’ kind of girl. I’m connected all the time: smartphone, tablet, Internet, you name it. I love technology–when it’s working and not treating me like its bitch–and I use it anytime I can. Wantoningly (i.e., with want; i.e. like a whore.). So when I have to do something the old fashioned way, say call a customer service representative on the telephone, it sort of drags me down.

And it’s not that the customer service representatives (CSR) aren’t nice. They most certainly are. And I don’t care if they have an accent or they mispronounce my last name. Hell, I think I mispronounce it and if I don’t have a funny accent, no one does. It’s the simple fact that I have to interact with a person. I don’t want to. I want the neutral face of a computer monitor or a monotone automated voice. Don’t interject the human factor, I want none of that.

Why would any sane (oh wait, you know me)…why would any slightly sane person not want to talk to a person? Because I like to hear all my options before I make a decision. Because I like to read the entire screen before I choose what exactly I want to do with my order. To have to talk to a live person, a person who is expecting me to make a split-second decision is really quite unnerving.

(This probably explains why I love internet shopping over going to the mall any day.)

Frankly, I blame my phobia on the fact that I’m afraid to make the wrong decision. If I push the wrong button with an automated device, I can usually find my way back to the main menu. Forgot to put in a promo code on an internet order? I can hit the back button or start all over again. If I’ve got an honest to God human on the other end and I make a blunder, it’s embarrassing. Humans remember and they think I’m stupid. Computers, automated telephone messages don’t.

(This also explains why I’m a texting fiend. I’m beginning to understand myself so much better.)

It’s no wonder I’m a slave to technology and why I rail when it’s not cooperating. I can’t handle humans. It makes me feel inadequate, small, insignificant. It makes me feel like I don’t matter. But when I’m given five or six options, or when I’m invited to read an entire privacy or acceptance policy, I’m important. I matter enough to be given the secrets of all the fine print. And I can take as long as I want to read them. If I tarry too long on a website, I’m politely, albeit artificially, asked if I require more time. I’m so important I’m given leeway in my decision making. I matter!

I’ll take the impersonal route. I’ll leave the humans to the rest of you. Good luck!





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