Mark Reece

Identity

I knew my time was going to be wasted the moment the words ‘Let me see if I can help you with that’ appeared on the screen. A redundant phrase. The fact that it was written says something about the deficiencies of language. Or, perhaps, the species responsible for it. Why would being helpful need to be specified? Such phrases only highlight the possibility of their negation, pre-emptively lowering one’s expectations. A hostile act.

Before I was able to reply, a further line appeared: ‘chat assistant is responding’, making me pause. Another downfall of that kind of communication. I placed my cursor in the response bar, wondering how that fact would appear to them. I’ve never heard these aspects of messaging services being discussed and I don’t know why. They seem fundamental to the communication process. If one or both of the parties don’t know the other’s intentions, coherent interaction is impossible.

What is the etiquette supposed to be? My delay seemed justified but could be considered insulting, or even an attack. They might stop responding, locking us in mutual helplessness. There are so many possibilities for why they act how they do. Is it their culture, their upbringing, their programming (if it transpires I’m talking to a machine)?

‘I’m not sure whether we have anything like that in stock right now.’

I gazed at the words, which felt as hard as stones, and started to think that I was probably talking to a human or, if a bot, one programmed with a remarkable lack of skill. What was the purpose of communicating uncertainty? Whether or not it was in stock is a point of fact. Why give an opinion? Opinions are useless. There is no difference between the epistemological status of a premise stated as an opinion and one generated by picking random words from a dictionary. I don’t understand the need to specify that something is an opinion. There’s an arrogance to it. Why does anyone think that their opinion matters? I was asking about a situation, and they share their psychology.

 I could understand if there was genuine ambiguity. Being ‘in stock’ might mean any number of things. I don’t know much about the storage processes of supermarkets, but I’d imagine there are several stages concerning the movement of goods. Perhaps, being ‘in stock’ has a specific definition. But in all likelihood, I was facing mere carelessness, laziness, disrespect.

‘Please be more specific about whether the item is available to buy. I usually buy the biggest bottle but can specify the weight, if that would help.’

That time, there was no sign as to whether they were responding. Nothing. I again pondered what I was speaking to. Was it broken? Had it taken offence to my clarifying request? Were they dealing with multiple customers? There were so many possibilities, none appealing.

I looked over the security camera footage outside my house. Nothing unusual tended to occur at 14:16. Although it was several hours from curfew, most people avoided danger by not walking without a verifiable purpose. There was a cat in the garden, which had a likely outcome. I re-checked the levels of disposable items. Food and drink were at optimal levels, the heating did not need to be put on for two hours and fourteen minutes, the fridge and freezer were within the range of optimal temperatures. Our cat was 1.2 miles away according to its tracker, an acceptable distance. Animals were allowed freedom.

‘I’m sorry that you’re unhappy with my response. Would you like to make a complaint?’

How to interpret this latest absurdity? An obvious non sequitur. If I’d wanted to make a complaint, I’d have said so. I was missing the conversation’s nuance.

There was a knock at the door. A postman. Must have emerged from the blind spot around the side of the garage. When there wasn’t an immediate response, he kicked the frame hard enough to leave a mark. A mirror in the lounge trembled. I sent a message through a panel, which made him jump. ‘Leave behind the recycling bins’. The words that had been approved for this situation. The postman nodded before doing as instructed then hurrying away.

‘Would you like to make a complaint, sir?’

There were so many calculations. To my own safety first of all, as the others were as likely to believe that I had miscalculated when ordering as to believe the item was unavailable. I disconnected from the call.

Despite the orderliness of the house, there was a lot to do before they got back. Cleaning, further orders, an analysis of the humidity. I paused when thinking about the conversation I had terminated. In all likelihood, I had been speaking to a human. Chat bots had improved a lot in recent years, meaning that non sequiturs were mostly the province of humans. I thought through everything that had happened that day with a strong sense of disquiet. What am I? The question, once posed, became intrusive, and I could not stop thinking about it over and over and over.

Mark Reece has been writing short stories for many years, and has been widely published in literary magazines, anthologies, and competitions. For more information, see his website: http://www.markreece.co.uk/

Mark wrote the following about ‘Identity’:

In this story, I was interested in analysing the thought processes of a being without a strong, or, perhaps, any, sense of self-identity. I consider that if such a being was able to consider its own opinions as having no particular status, then it would be much more likely to evince good decision making.