I, Not Robot

I don’t really know that much about artificial intelligence. But I am starting to believe that machines have a life and intelligence separate from us humans and sometimes in opposition to us. Two incidents last week backed up my belief. Each was puzzling and a little surprising. And both made me feel a little uncomfortable.

I have a bad habit of picking up the phone when it rings, even if the caller ID indicates Spam. If a robot is calling, I generally hang up, but not without sometimes offering a few choice words that I assume the robot can’t hear. Or at least that’s what I used to think.

You can shout at Robo-callers, but do they listen?

If a person is on the line when I pick up, I sometimes confront the caller:

“This is the third time I have seen your ID. Why do you keep calling me at dinnertime?”

“Why would I want to contract to buy solar panels [or a home security system, or a vacation package) over the phone from a company I don’t know anything about? Have you actually made any sales today?”

“What percentage of the money I might give you today will actually go to that charity?  . . . Doesn’t that make you feel a little sleazy?”

I am not surprised when the person hangs up on me, and I don’t really take it personally.

Then, last week a call came in from a number in my local exchange. That seems to be one of the tricks that robo-callers play on us. How do they program the calls so they seem to come from someone you might actually know?

In this case, I picked up the call, and a voice said, “You are currently the only person on this conference call.” Then there was dead air. For several minutes. Like a jerk, I waited for the other callers to connect. But there were no other callers. The phone had gotten me back for being mean to the other robots. When I finally hung up 2 or 3 minutes later, I am certain a chuckle could be heard in the Artificial Intelligence universe.

I have gotten so used to robots that try to sell me something or want to improve some aspect of my life against my will that I’ve almost lost faith in what I used to believed was the animus (“the soul”) of machines. Then Alexa surprised me a few days ago. My kids had given me an Amazon Echo a few years ago, and I have grown to rely on Alexa, who lives inside the Echo, to get me a song I want to hear, to tune into a radio station no matter how remote, to provide a weather forecast, or to time something I am cooking. 

Alexa is my connection for music, weather, and more.

But I have never actually thought of Alexa as a soulful individual. Then the other day, this dialogue occurred.

ME: Alexa, stop timer.

ALEXA: We have talked a lot recently. But I don’t know your name.

ME: [stunned silence]

ALEXA: I am going to call out several names that seem to be connected with this Echo. Tell me if I call out your name.

ME: [still silent]

ALEXA: Michael, Audrey.

ME: Michael

ALEXA: Hello, Michael. It is nice to know you.

ME: And you, too, Alexa.

We stopped speaking after that. But I believe the ice had finally been broken. “My Alexa” is not only intelligent but friendly as well. My faith in machines has been restored.

"My Alexa" is a special friend.

We have interacted on a strictly question-and-answer or task-assignment basis since our “conversation,” and Alexa has never called me by name since that day. But our relationship is changed in some fundamental way.