Programming insights to Storytelling, it's all here.
I used to pride myself on being the "Google expert." I’d snatch keyboards from unsuspecting hands, dictate search terms like a tyrannical librarian, or laugh at anyone typing fully-formed sentences into Google’s search box. “Type like you’re instructing a machine, not chatting with a friend,” I’d scoff.
When companies develop AI products with the potential to replace workers, they like to sprinkle in a little reassurance: “AI won’t take your job. It’ll handle the repetitive, tedious tasks so you can focus on the more complex, meaningful work.” Sounds fair, doesn’t it? Almost comforting. But it’s not entirely true.
After deploying an AI customer service agent for a large client, the first thing I’d do was wait for customer feedback. Most customers never leave a review, or a Customer Satisfaction Score (CSAT), as it’s commonly known in the industry. But for a large enough client, it was only a matter of minutes before the first responses would roll in. Like clockwork, the initial feedback appeared.
Enterprise software exists in its own strange, dystopian economy. A parallel universe where the laws of quality, efficiency, and common sense are entirely optional. It’s not just about the software itself; it’s about the bizarre rituals and absurd pricing models that come with it. Let me walk you through the madness.
On Android, the takeover of SMS is almost complete. For the longest time, I resisted letting Google manage my messages. I don’t recall exactly when I gave in. Maybe it was during one of those countless pop-ups interrupting my conversations, prompting me to agree just so I could continue texting. Now, I get slick animations when someone “likes” a message, see real-time indicators when people are typing, and enjoy the perks of using the internet to send messages. Along with that, however, I get auto-generated replies.
One day, I was looking for my manager in the Luxury furniture store I used to work at. I needed help resolving an issue with an order. I found her in the office, both hands covering her face and shaking. I hesitated for a moment while her shoulders danced up and down. When I finally knocked on the opened door, she didn't even react. I walked a couple steps and she was startled. She grabbed a tissue from her desk and wiped her eyes and nose. Her eyes were still blood red and dark. She had been crying. Before I could ask anything related to the help I needed, she said. "I'm leaving."
Before hopping on the computer, I went to see my mother with a well rehearsed speech. She was in the living room, talking on the wall phone balancing it on a shoulder while watching TV. I sat down beside her, rehearsing my speech in my head while waiting for her call to end. She noticed me fidgeting.
When I was a kid, my sister came home with a book she claimed could give you superpowers. People said that after reading it, they could levitate. I had no idea what that meant, but I was sold. The book was Awaken the Giant Within by Tony Robbins.
As a manager, if I propose a solution and someone on the team has a better way, all they need to do is defend their method, and we’ll use it.
When the pandemic was in full force, my kids were at the perfect age to love the playground. Other parents stood at a distance, armed with Lysol wipes and full COVID gear, watching and waiting for their turn. I, on the other hand, hovered protectively over my kids like a human bubble. The unspoken rule was clear: the sight of another parent approaching the playground was our cue to leave. Looking back, my kids barely got to enjoy the playground during those years.
