Electric Sheep

Well, shucks, maybe I am a robot.

I’ve spent most my life under the apparently misguided apprehension that I was a flesh and blood human being, but a recent online encounter with a CAPTCHA prompt has me questioning the very nature of my existence.

CAPTCHA, I very recently learned, means “Completely automated public Turing test to tell computers and humans apart,” but that knowledge hasn’t made my life any easier.

I was attempting to comment on a blog post and after typing in my incredibly insightful thoughts, I hit the submit button and waited to unleash my wonderous words on an unsuspecting world.

Then I got the CAPTCHA prompt, which asked me to click on photos of all the store fronts I could find in a series of images to prove that I wasn’t a robot.

No problem, I said, marking off the appropriate pictures, now post my comment.

But I must have missed one of the storefronts because instead of seeing my words go public, I was given another prompt where I had to pick off all the traffic lights I could find.

Consider it done, I said, mousing away. Time to post my comment.

Only it wasn’t. I got another prompt, this one looking for buses. And then another one, and another after that, and still another, asking me to find all sorts of objects.

Now I started off fairly calm—honesty. But each android request pushed up my blood pressure until I had smoke pouring out of my ears.

“I’m not a goddamn robot!” I screamed at my computer.

‘Daisy, Daisy…’

Then again, I have to wonder. While I think I’ve been making some progress in controlling my temper, I seem to be wired for anger, particularly when it comes to misbehaving machines.

If I’m a robot, I could use some serious reprogramming.

Now I don’t know if androids dream of electric sheep, but the other night I dreamed I ran into a former friend of mine. I was happy to see him and everything seemed okay between us, even though our real-world friendship had tanked years ago.

The next thing I remember I was back working a job I had left years ago.

I was working at my old desk, dreading an upcoming afternoon meeting, when word came down that the building’s sprinkler system had gone haywire and was flooding the hell out of the lower floors.

So…did I exit in an orderly manner with the sane people? Oh, HAL, no, I went down to one of the water-soaked floors and sat down on the soggy carpet like it was a day at the beach.

The meaning of all this? Well, both of these scenes represent the familiar and the comfortable, even when they weren’t healthy or productive. I would like to have my friend back in my life, but I know it’s never going to happen.

And I was never happy in that old job, yet I refused to leave even when there was an emergency.

This is the danger of the familiar, where I stay in unhealthy situations solely because there are no surprises. Robots love the comfort zone.

I finally posted my comment and angrily clicked off the computer. It’s easy to fix a robot—you just put in new software.

It’s tougher with us humans, but I’m not giving up. I’m going to keep on improving and working diligently until I find all those stupid storefronts.