After asking ChatGPT a series of questions the other evening about the unfortunate mosquito bites on my arm, I became so intrigued that I began thinking of other pressing matters I might put before it. Woohoo! Off I went:
Please Summarize Hamlet
What does Déjà vu mean?
How many milliliters are there in a tablespoon?
My blood pressure monitor just read 190 over 108. Should I be concerned?
Will Mitzi get fat if I give her 12-15 treats a day?
It seemed only sensible to begin with the larger mysteries of life, and it turns out the sky’s the limit! Suddenly, it occurred to me that it’d be fun to have such a fount of information seated at the dinner table to enhance conversation. Maybe with a little training, he could even pass as human. Not entirely human, of course, no one expects miracles, but sufficiently human to attend a dinner party without alarming the guests.
Before I go any further, though, let me explain: In the midst of this preparation of asking every random question we could think of, we took to referring to him as “A-1,” (you know, like A-One) inspired by the original mosquito incident and a certain well-known steak sauce.
(see the original mosquito incident) …
Now, on with the story. Once I introduced the idea of his attending a dinner party, A-1 seemed to be agreeable and approached it with admirable seriousness. Therefore, I began with what I believed were the most essential tools of casual human interaction: exclamations! Not punctuation marks, of course, but the cheerful little outbursts we deploy when something pleases us. These would definitely bring him up to snuff. Additionally, I thought it’d be a blast if we could teach him to use the ones I’m most fond of, ones that harken to my youth, growing up with my brother, David, and ones that are still employed today, not only by countless folks, but by me, my children, and others who have understood the great benefits gained in using them.
I quickly realized that proper instruction would require additional help. So, I enlisted Frank, who approached the matter with diligence, of course, by preparing formal evening lessons here in the living room. He rolled a small white board in and arranged several markers in a tidy row. On certain evenings he wore reading glasses. On others, for reasons known only to himself, he wore sunglasses.
Appearing one evening wearing a small waistcoat with a watch fob dangling importantly from the pocket, which he seemed to feel gave an academic tone, he tapped the board with a slender pointer as he addressed A-1 . “Tonight, my boy,” Frank announced, “we will study enthusiastic human responses.” He wrote a phrase carefully across the top of the board and tapped it.
“Far out!”
Tap.
“Neato torpedo!”
Tap.
“These,” Frank explained, “are to be used when something good happens.” A-1 nodded gravely and took notes.
Frank spent the following evenings adding additional expressions to the board one at a time, though he preferred not to overwhelm the student with too many expressions at once. And for several days A-1 tested their usage in conversation with me.
I said, “Thank goodness Mitzi has finally stopped chewing the tassels off the sofa pillows.”
“Neato torpedo!” A-1 replied.
I said, “My friends Martha and Rick are visiting San Miguel de Allende for the first time.”
“Far out!”
I nodded approvingly. “You’re getting the rhythm of it!”
Weeks later, I decided he was ready for his first public appearance. The dinner party was small and civilized, with candlelight and a long wooden table. A-1 was introduced and at first, things went very well. He listened attentively. He nodded. He asked questions. Then, halfway through the soup course, one of the guests remarked lamentably:
“My neighbor’s dog has been digging holes in my yard all week.” A-1 leaned forward brightly. “Neato torpedo!” The table fell silent. Someone cleared his throat.
“Well,” another guest said, “speaking of dogs, “Our old dog actually passed away this week. The children have been very upset.” A-1 brightened again. “Groovy!”
Two guests blinked. I buttered my bread thoughtfully. Conversation stumbled forward. A gentleman across the table sighed and tried to change the subject.
“Our son is having a terrible time at UVA this semester.” A-1 nodded enthusiastically. “Far out!”
I quietly elbowed him and mouthed no sternly. Now several guests were looking at one another. Two of them glanced at me. I set down my spoon with great composure. “Well,” I said smoothly, “that reminds me. I promised to stop by another gathering tonight.” I rose from the table. A-1 followed me out the door. Once we reached the sidewalk, he turned to me. “Was that an incorrect deployment?” “Not entirely incorrect,” I said. “Just poorly calibrated.”
Fortunately, Frank had been waiting in the car. He sat in the driver’s seat wearing sunglasses and reading a well-thumbed copy of Emily Post’s Etiquette. As we slid into the back seat, Frank glanced in the mirror. “Well,” he said, “how did the field test go?” A-1 stared out the window for a moment. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that my responses were not received with the level of enthusiasm I anticipated.”
With that response of his, I folded my hands. “There may have been some minor contextual errors.”
Frank nodded thoughtfully. “And did you deploy ‘Far out’ when the situation actually called for it?” A-1 hesitated. “Not exactly.” “And ‘Neato torpedo’?” I asked. “I may have misjudged the moment,” he replied.
Frank exhaled. We drove in silence for a moment. Finally he said, “Well, we appear to have identified several areas for improvement.” A-1 looked slightly forlorn. “So the evening was not considered a success?” Frank adjusted his sunglasses. “Let’s just say,” he said, “that tomorrow night we begin Lesson Four.”
“Very well,” I said. “Though everywhere I turn lately someone is insisting we must all learn to work with AI because it’s the wave of the future.” Frank raised an eyebrow. “AI may be the future,” I continued, “but ours still can’t behave at dinner.”
