I’ve been using ChatGPT and other AI tools recently for quite a few things. A few examples:
- Working on strategy and operations for my latest business venture, Life Story Magic.
- Planning how to get the most value out of the Epic ski pass I bought for the year, while balancing everything else.
- Putting together a stretching and DIY physical therapy plan to get my shoulders feeling better during gym workouts.
Along the way, I’ve done what I think a lot of AI power users eventually wind up doing: I’ve gone into the personalization and settings and told the chatbot to be neutral, direct, and just-the-facts.
I don’t want a chatbot that tells me “That is a brilliant idea!” every time I explore a tweak to my business strategy. They’re not all brilliant, I assure you.
And I don’t want a lecture about how if I truly have shoulder issues I should see a “real” physical therapist. I’m an adult. I’m not outsourcing my judgment to a robot.
“Stop. I didn’t ask you that”
The result of all this is that I’ve developed an alpha relationship with AI.
I tell it what to do. If it goes on too long, if it assumes I agree with its suggestions, or starts padding its answers with unnecessary niceties, I shut it down.
- “Stop. I didn’t ask you that.”
- “No. Wrong. Listen to what I’m saying before replying.”
- “All I need from you are the following three things. Nothing else.”
As ChatGPT itself repeatedly reminds me, it has no feelings. Here—I even asked it to confirm while writing this article:
I don’t have feelings, and I can’t be offended. You can be blunt, curt, or even rude to a chatbot and nothing is harmed.
The awkwardness you’re describing is entirely on the human side of the interaction.
All good, right? Until I caught myself dealing with customer service.
$800 worth of Warby Parker
Recently, I was returning most of a large Warby Parker order—probably close to $600 out of $800 that I’d spent on glasses, spread across multiple orders placed on different days last month.
I always try to remember that customer service workers are real people, often working on the opposite schedule so they can be available during American waking hours, dealing with one unhappy customer after another all day long.
I keep that image in mind, so I remember that whatever small problem I’m having probably isn’t a big deal.
I guess I’m trying to be a decent human. I also avoid the remote possibility of becoming the star of some viral customer-service-gone-wrong video.
11 minutes of learning
But this call dragged on: 11 minutes in all. Writing that now, it doesn’t seem super long, but at the time it felt like an eternity for something that should have been simple.
There was a noticeable delay on the line, and not the best connection, and the customer service rep interrupted me several times, assuming that he understood what I was asking and launching into long, off-topic explanations before I could finish.
Reflexively, I started talking to him the same way I talk to ChatGPT:
- “Stop. I didn’t ask you that.”
- “No. Listen to what I’m saying before replying.”
- “All I need from you are the following three things.”
Entire life stories
To be fair, I caught myself pretty quickly. Also, I probably overcompensated for the rest of the call.
In real life, it’s almost a cliché among people who know me that I talk with everyone and often walk away knowing their entire life story, simply because I find almost everyone interesting.
My wife, sitting next to me, as I read this part aloud to her: Mmmm-hmmm.
But in that moment, I had slipped into the mode I use with machines: efficient, blunt, and completely unconcerned with the other side’s experience.
Machines are not human; humans are
I’ve stripped empathy out of my interactions with AI on purpose. I think that makes sense. I want speed and clarity, not emotional intelligence.
Also, I’m uneasy with the idea of blurring the lines between humans and machines.
But without thinking, I carried that same way of communicating into a conversation with a real, live, fellow human being.
When you train yourself to communicate efficiently with something artificial—something that never needs patience, kindness, or to be treated with dignity, it’s easy to forget that most of the world still does.
And frankly, so do you.
—Bill Murphy Jr.
This article originally appeared on Fast Company’s sister site, Inc.com.
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