🦺 Dr. Who

Welcome to the twelfth edition of Safe For Work.

Today a story inspired by Dr. Who and intelligence artificial.

I don't remember the last time I saw someone blink.

It’s been a while. The thing about video-chatting is that the frame rate usually hides blinking, or just makes it blurry.

When was last time I saw someone blink? 

It’s a lot easier to worry about that than to let myself worry about the last time I genuinely smiled, or laughed at a joke.

I don’t know. It might be the anxiety. Maybe I’ve been over-caffeinating. 

Do you remember, five years ago, right after I’d finished reading Don Quixote– your favorite book, right?-- do you remember when we sat out by that campfire, just talking about it? 

I’m picturing you right now– you were gently smiling when I summed up what I’d thought, my experience of reading it. But when you talked, I could see the deeper passion lighting up in your eyes.

I don’t remember the last time I read a book. Not even a small one, I mean– not even a hundred pages. If you can’t capture my attention in eight seconds, that’s it, now– I’ll just move on– and I’ll move on to something else that doesn’t capture my attention either, and then off I go again, on from that.

Do you remember when we bought our first car, back in 2014? You were excited, I remember. You were over the moon. You wanted to get your license as soon as possible. Do you remember when I used to drive it around for you?-- passenger-seat, right next to me. That smile on your face, that light in your eyes again. Back then, I could speed up, let down the windows, listen to music, hold your hands in mine and feel like everything was in my control.

I was there to hold you when you failed your driving test. I was yours after all.  I miss that feeling, our bond, our partnership. Control over our things and minds. I have another car now, but it just does not feel like mine. I think now there is no use for driving licenses, anyways. 

Back in 2019, I used to write– a lot, I mean. I used to think and I used to write. Do you remember the poem that I wrote for you? Do you remember?-- you laughed and laughed until you hurt your stomach. You told me I was not a poet. 

Fair enough.

You someday– you were sure of it– there’d be a poet who’d have no emotions at all, but whose writing would be absolutely perfect– and we could compare that poetry to my poetry, which was basically the opposite, and then maybe we’d learn something interesting. 

I feel so helpless now. 

When did I last even go shopping? A few years ago? I can’t seem to hold on to when, but the experience itself is still vivid in my mind. Perfect, in that imperfect, askew way that it always goes when you go outside, you know? You were with me–  that’s why it was perfect. I still have that shirt we bought together, but I don’t know where it is. I don’t do my own laundry anymore.

Now when I think about it, I think I lived my life in those moments. Now, I am just spending my life with… I don’t know. I spend hours and hours looking at these machines. I ask these intellectual robots to write me stories. I ask my AIco to be like my cat. My car knows how to keep me safe. My house cleans itself and does the dishes and laundry. I no longer decide which outfit I should wear. Everything is ready. 

Sometimes I pick little fights with the AI to see if it loves me enough to fight back. But it’s not like you. Every time I ever picked one of my little fights with you, I always knew how to get you started up, revved and riled– I always knew how to get you to fight. You’d always get going and once you got going you’d stare me right in the eyes and you’d say everything you wanted to say– you wouldn’t look away– you wouldn’t even blink. But it’s not like you. It can’t hold my gaze.

I catch it blinking, every time.

It’s no secret that the modern world is becoming more and more disconnected. People are moving farther and farther apart, despite social media’s ironic promise to bring us closer together. And of course, the pandemic only made things worse. Pile on top of that the many recent innovations in AI for content, for convenience– even for conversation, in the case of customer-service workers  being replaced with low-quality chatbots, and it’s easy to see where we might be going. 

But do we have to go there? Or can we do something about it?

What are some steps you can take in your workplace to ensure that true human connection isn’t lost with the coming age? People are always saying “That meeting could have been an email”-- but just because it could have, does that mean that it should have? Is remote work always better? Does AI really have to be used for every single job it’s capable of? What sorts of in-office events can be scheduled to keep people connected and closer together? What are little parts of in-person culture that can be kept precious and preserved?

How can we keep the positive social connections of the past as we hurtle headlong into the future?

See you next week as we explore the impact of the invention of the transistor. Stay safe.