The AI assistant was available to assist me with anything I required, but all I desired was a real, breathing person | Adrian Chiles

Something went wrong that morning when I discovered my car charger had completely malfunctioned. A wave of frustration crashed over me, leaving me feeling drained and exasperated. The issue stemmed from the wifi connection linked to the car needing to be changed. To be honest, I find these tech problems exceedingly dull to the point that I could easily collapse onto the floor and slip into a deep, peaceful slumber.

However, this was not an option because I had to travel miles to get to work, and my car’s battery was as depleted as my motivation. After already spending five hours on the road, I had been listening to Antony Beevor’s gripping account of the Second World War. Humanity’s tendency for cruelty towards one another is profoundly disheartening, often more so than the discomfort of dealing with a faulty electric vehicle charger on a dreary, rainy day. Determined, I told myself that the human spirit would triumph, but I desperately needed another person to lend a hand.

In a moment of sheer urgency, I reached out to the person who had installed the charger. However, time was slipping away, compelling me to explore the manufacturer’s website. It was all flashy and over-the-top, boasting of a greener future, sustainability, solar initiatives, and technical advancements. With a click, I headed to the support section, only to be met with the dreaded message: the page doesn’t exist. Fantastic! With a bit of luck, I finally stumbled upon a rare find buried somewhere deep within the site – an actual phone number. Whispering silent prayers of appreciation and hope, I dialed.

To my surprise, my phone indicated that I was calling a number from a quaint little town in the eastern part of England. That felt promising. I envisioned a skilled technician with a robust Hull accent ready to assist me, but instead, I was greeted by an automated American voice that serenaded me with piano arpeggios. My heart sank. Opting for option two, designated for technical help, I perked up briefly as I could hear faint office sounds—keyboards clicking and conversations murmuring. Shortly after, I heard a voice say, “Hi. This is Rachel. How can I assist you today?”

Yet, I quickly realized that Rachel was anything but human. While she sounded almost human, there was something distinctly off. I informed “her” of my predicament regarding changing the wifi settings on my electric vehicle charger. I found myself mumbling, almost shyly expressing my discomfort with the implausible nature of the interaction. It was unsettling, to say the least, as attempts had clearly been made to craft a believable experience, complete with background noises that simulated a real office atmosphere. This situation felt like an elaborate ruse.

Her voice reminded me of those amusing videos where people’s faces were digitally stitched onto different bodies, creating a laughably awkward juxtaposition. Nowadays, however, the technology has advanced so much that these transformations appear strikingly real, making it uneasy to navigate the blurred lines of reality and fiction. For instance, imagine a convincing video featuring Donald Trump playing ice hockey for the U.S. team. However amusing, such experiences leave one questioning where this technology could lead us in the future.

After relaying my request to Rachel for support, she assured me she would transfer me to someone who could help. But just as swiftly, the call was disconnected. I tried again and again, feeling a mix of frustration and disdain for my involvement in this surreal charade. While I wanted to get things fixed, I felt oddly relieved that the madness was encountering glitches, allowing me to briefly disconnect from this absurdity.

Just when I began to lose hope, a familiar voice came through on my phone. It was Stuart, the technician who had initially installed the charger. Had he been there in person, I would have enthusiastically hugged him—not solely for his technical expertise, but because he was authentically human. He guided me through intricate IT procedures that felt incredibly complex, involving arcane codes like 10.10.100.453 along with enigmatic passwords. The entire experience was lengthy and overwhelming, but to me, it felt beautiful; it was profoundly human. I could hear Stuart’s breaths, his thought process, as we exchanged light-hearted banter while various updates processed, froze, or occasionally faltered.

Ultimately, after what seemed like an eternity of confusion, for reasons unclear even to Stuart, the charger miraculously sprang back to life. My gratefulness knew no bounds—equal parts joy for the restoration of my charger and appreciation for genuine human interaction. In a world increasingly dominated by technology, such moments of real connection are indeed treasures.

Adrian Chiles is a Guardian columnist