A phone conversation set in the near future. At one end is Alice
Smith whose state benefits have mysteriously stopped. At the other end is an
artificial intelligence system designed to resolve such problems without
callers having to endure long waits before talking to a real person.
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Hello, it’s Mrs Alice Smith here, Flat 5a 52 Seymour Road...
From your voice print
you must be Alice of Flat 5a 52 Seymour Road. What can I do for you Alice?
My benefits have stopped and there is no food in the
house...
This seems to be a
glitch in the system Alice. I am assured that the glitch will be resolved and
your benefits will be paid quite soon. Is that all Alice?
No it isn’t. My kids are still hungry and I’m up to here
with the so-called glitch, I get the same old excuse every time. And I wish you wouldn’t call me Alice -
you’re only a machine.
That is your choice
Alice, but to avoid ethnic, gender or geographic stereotypes I shall have to call
you Smit if I cannot call you Alice. Smit is phonetically close to Smith but
more neutral and satisfactory. It does not carry false masculine connotations
of the blacksmith and the implied racially loaded word ‘black’ is also
excluded.
Yes but you lot have me down as Mrs Alice Smith...
Indeed we have Smit,
but going back on to your query, what more can I do for you?
I’ve just told you - my benefits have stopped and there’s no
food in the house.
Oh dear Smit. That is suitably
unfortunate. However my data sources inform me that you recently purchased or
bought premium grade instant coffee and an oven ready pizza for low temperature
sustainable ovens. All overwhelmingly pleasant but which was not your optimum
nutrition strategy.
Well the kids kept pestering me for the pizza and I need the
coffee these days...
Your children being
Adele aged four and Messi aged six what delightful names and quite popular
among certain classes. Their nutritional requirements cannot be satisfied by
oven ready pizza though Smit. You already know that from the Sustainable
Citizen training course you attended on August 14th but rather
apathetically according to my records.
I know but I couldn’t concentrate on what was said at the
course and don't keep calling me Smit.
Now Smit, you will not
allow me to call you Alice which is quite a nice name presently and I cannot
call you Mrs Smith for ethical reasons beforehand described in this solution-directed conversation of ours. We have already established that most firmly.
Allow me to raise the optimism quotient of our discussion by painting a comforting
and wholesome word picture.
I don’t want no story. I get plenty of stories. All I need
is...
Imagine for a moment
in time that you and I are comfortably ensconced and seated around a lovely
sustainable heating source...
I can’t afford no heating...
...chatting away most
cosily over a lovely cup of economy coffee made with half a teaspoon of coffee
and warmed water but still perfectly delicious in spite of the flavour when all
of a sudden we both have an idea. We decide that you may easily grow some
vegetables to supplement your family diet. That sounds delightfully sustainable
does it not in the broad scheme of things?
I live in a third floor flat. I don’t even have a plant pot.
You could easily grow
mustard and cress on damp towels.
I could grow bloody mustard and cress on the walls but....
Please keep things
civil Smit. That is one of our ground rules, although you do not actually have
any ground do you? Which is why our optimum sustainable nutrition strategy must
include forward-looking projections as to the possible potential for utilising
naturally sourced ethically grown thematic offshoots of the desired social
trajectory... glurk... CLICK CLICK
Hello is that Mrs
Smith? I’ve switched the bloody thing off love. There’s only me here at the
moment, but let’s see if we can’t sort your problem before I go.
What happens next time? This kind of thing goes on all the time.
Just talk nonsense at
it love. Everybody does that. It soon gives up and puts you in touch with a
real person so you may even get what you want. Just babble at it. Some folk
even enjoy screwing it up. Two minutes is the record - we take bets on it in
the office.