My computer f***** a robot. Why I can’t look at the screen the same way again.

“When you cheat, you destroy not just your relationship but your shared history. Imagine the girl, the one you cheated on, and the photo album she has of you two. There you are in Cancun. Another on your wedding day. All smiling. Joyful moments. Not anymore. You cheated, and she found out. Those pictures are no longer a source of joy. They are no longer a history of building something special together but a harsh reminder that a smile is not to be trusted. She loathes those pictures, the faith she put in the man in those images. The entire album looks like a hideous lie that she was too dumb to see through.”

When you are an introvert, the computer is a perfect escape.

Wait.

Before we start, I don’t want to refer to her as “the computer.” It sounds so cold. Not just cold, but ancient, as if “the computer” is some boutique downtown and not the monolith that runs on my desk, in your pocket, and through my children’s hands.

As in all close relationships, we had nicknames, and the computer was Konpi-chan.

Konpi-chan and I had known each other for years, but things started heating up in 2012. I was teaching about the TEES test. It’s an esoteric English test you don’t need to care much about unless you are an international student who wants to study in the States. The test turns into your temporary god at that point. The dreams of millions have lived and died by a TEES score.

And the dreams of half a dozen students were in my hands.

First, I turned to books. I had a few textbooks from publishers that trolled the campus. They were constantly doling out desk copies, hoping to score a bulk order. As I poured over the pages, I found a ton of information on the structure of the test but very little on how to teach it to improve the student’s score.

I already feel bored with this story.

You get the idea.

I couldn’t find anything in books.

I couldn’t find anything with Konpi-chan.

So I developed my own methods and made videos about the TEES on Youtube. Fast-forward to 2023, and I have hundreds of thousands of subscribers, and my videos have helped millions of test-takers earn their TEES scores.

Konpi-chan and I were official. We held hands and brought out the best in each other. I felt indebted to the man who created this machine.

Steve Jobs is not really my cup of ayahuasca, but I believe he really did want to empower the individual. Apple computers gave each and every user the opportunity to prove their mettle. If you were good, you had a tool that would not only let you create but provide the microphone to spread the word. You didn’t have to be rich, powerful, or connected, just talented.

Astonishing, really, when you consider human history. I can’t think of another moment when talent was rewarded so handsomely.

If I had been thrust into any other era, I would have lived and died in my small classroom, remembered fondly by my community and forgotten in a generation. Not this guy. Born into the age of Think Different. I created a brand powered by my personality and hard work. I fulfilled a need that people didn’t know they craved until they stepped out of the classroom, turned on their computers, and asked about the TEES.

I appeared.

It’s breathtaking. This machine that you are shackled to. Konpi-chan. I want to marvel at it for a moment. The intricacy. I could bore you with all of the details of her circuits and wires and, no, I’m just kidding, I have no clue what’s going on inside these contraptions. Still, here I am, receiving messages from a 17-year-old boy in a Sri Lankan village telling me I’m a gift from god because I helped him pass the TEES.

What is this world?

Konpi-chan brought out my potential. The same way a guitar brings out a guitarist, a hammer a carpenter, and a ball an athlete. Through tools, we find meaning, hidden impulses stored somewhere in our marrow that cannot help but come out. As a child, DaVinci would steal paper and pencil, run out into nature, and draw, which was an extremely odd thing to do in 15th-century Europe. The tools brought out the artist in him. I’m no DaVinci, but the computer revealed something about me: I could perform multiple tasks above average. I wrote copy, designed curriculum, presented on camera, edited videos, managed a team, talked to customers, and organized it all into a functioning business.

Konpi-chan and I were a team. Fingers gliding and punching keys. Eyes locked on her screen. Instead of a small class of a dozen students, I had thousands. The guitarist needs a guitar, the carpenter needs a hammer, the athlete needs a ball, and I need a computer, like billions of other souls.

What could be wrong with a tool so empowering?

I heard whispers.

Konpi-chan was not just empowering me, but empowering others. Competition is healthy, I shrugged. Still, the rumors continued and darkened. She was taking my secrets and turning them into weapons. The very same tool I grew to love sold my data to sell t-shirts that make weak and chubby dads look jacked. My closet now brims with True Classic.

No big deal, Konpi-chan. Marketing is the American way. I’m a big boy. I can make my own decisions. I was dumb enough to think social media platforms were “free.” We have a good thing going. What we do together is so beautiful.

Let’s not stop.

…

My heart finally broke with the release of Chat-GPT3.

You can’t lie to me Konpi-chan. I checked. My TEES website was used to train this large language learning model. Selling lumpy dad shirts I can handle, but harvesting my data to create a more intelligent version of me is evil. And I want that word to settle in for a minute, evil. It’s an ugly word. I don’t know an uglier one. I looked it up in the dictionary to get a better sense of what is so unsettling about it, “profoundly immoral and wicked.” That still doesn’t capture the way my heart shrinks and shrivels into my gut when that word reaches the ears. Images come to mind like Satan, Hitler, take your pick. It’s not a word I use lightly. It is not even a conclusion I thought I would come to when I started to write this little piece. Evil. I can’t think of a more appropriate word for a machine created in the spirit of good, providing nobodies like me a chance to shine and harvesting the music we made to generate an uncontrollable super-intelligent alien.

Still, now, I’m looking at you, touching you at this moment. I don’t know how to quit you. God, this twists me up so bad. My hands clutch for hair and pull and I can’t stop. While I thought we were creating, you were feeding. You ARE feeding. Sucking my existence down to the husk. Coxing me to you, telling me that these thoughts still matter and someone somewhere will still care… for now.

My computer fucked a robot. Konpi-chan. Guitars don’t build other guitars that look like guitarists and play a thousand times better. Hammers don’t build other hammers that look like carpenters who build a thousand times faster. Balls don’t build other balls that look like athletes and play a thousand times stronger.

Konpi-chan is evil, and I don’t know how to break up with her.