I let ChatGPT make all my decisions for a day - here's what happened

I, for one, welcome our new AI overlord

#23. Slave to AI

‘Tomorrow, I’m going to live my entire day however you suggest. My life will be in your hands. To give you some context I am a 36-year-old married man on holiday in Cannes. So - what time should I wake up tomorrow and what should I do?’

This is what I whispered to Chat-GPT one night as I lay pressed between the crisp white sheets of the Five Seas Hotel in the run-up to a friend’s wedding. Streetlights threw shadows upon the limestone walls of the gothic church outside – the Notre Dame de Bon Voyage. I had that frustrated feeling you get on holiday, like I’d wasted precious time. I’d stayed in bed until noon browsing Twitter, languished by the pool for an afternoon, and now felt bloated from a poorly-chosen pizzeria for dinner.

I was clearly incapable of making good decisions for myself. Perhaps Chat-GPT would do a better job of it. People join cults, totalitarian regimes and even book groups to get away from the burden of having to think for themselves; anything to escape the terror of existence, the heavy burden of responsibility amongst the heady chaos of life. So why not? I put my life into the virtual hands of AI.

That sounds like an interesting adventure! I recommend embarking on a short boat trip from Cannes to Île Sainte-Marguerite. To make the most of your day, I suggest waking up at 7:00 a.m.

‘OK, seven a.m., let’s do this,’ I thought, as I switched off the lamp and settled to sleep.

At 9:26am I sent ChatGPT a message.

I’d overslept, then spent an hour on Twitter again. Two tech behemoths were fighting to make me their bitch, and Twitter was winning. I wished ChatGPT could have had more control over my life. If only it could have set continuous alarms until I’d gotten up. If only it could have blocked Twitter for the day.

I ambled from the hotel to the sun-kissed marina, where luxury yachts bobbed listlessly on the twinkling blue. A pair of teenage girls sold me a ticket to the ferry to Île Sainte-Marguerite, giggling at my French. On the great white boat bustling with tourists, I fell upon a plastic seat and shifted under the heavy sun. I asked ChatGPT what to do.

I recommend taking the opportunity to relax and enjoy the scenic views. Embrace the tranquillity of the journey, appreciate the coastline, and let yourself unwind during the ferry ride.

I exhaled and let my body loosen. The ferry slowly pulled away from the shore. Tiny pink houses sank deeper into the shoreline fringed with palm trees waving gently goodbye. As we approached the island, a helicopter beat its way through the thick midday heat, and landed on a nearby yacht, 50 metres long and chunky, black and gold like a giant Nike Air Max.

Now that you're on Île Sainte-Marguerite, your next task is to explore the natural beauty of the island by taking a walk along the coastal trails. Remember to stay hydrated, wear comfortable shoes, and bring a small backpack with essentials like water and sunscreen.

This was very useful information – or it would have been, one hour ago. With the midday sun pushing down on my shoulders, I trudged uphill towards a cart besieged by other weary tourists. I asked for un eau and the surly man behind the counter tapped a sign: €10 minimum spend. I thought for a second, judged that I would rather die of thirst, and sloped away.

On ChatGPT’s recommendation, I hiked across a wide dirt avenue towards Fort Royal. Enormous palm trees saluted each other from each side of the shaded promenade, their dry leaves crackling in the breeze amongst the cicadas on all sides. Occasionally the line of trees broke to reveal the shoreline below, white rocks jutting into the navy blue. I was grateful to find a water fountain and knelt into the dust to drink from it.

I clambered up a hill towards the old stone fort, passing deserted orange-brick buildings with narrow doorways and chartreuse wooden window shutters, like an old spaghetti western. The fort itself had the ancient cool of a mausoleum, my footsteps ringing off the granite floor. I saw the cell that once housed the famous Man in the Iron Mask (Footnote: Forgot who this was and why he was masked). OK, so he was tortured a little, but he did have an incredible sea view, from which I watched tiny white boats glinting in the distance.

I asked for my next instruction.

Since you've already visited the Fort Royal, let's adjust the plan. From the fort, I recommend making your way to Plage de la Grotte, a beautiful beach located on the southern side of the island. To reach Plage de la Grotte, follow the signs or ask locals for directions. The beach is known for its clear waters and peaceful atmosphere.

After thirty minutes of walking, and Googling, and asking locals for directions, I deduced that, actually, there was no such beach. ChatGPT was blasé.

It seems there was a mistake in my response, and I apologize for any confusion caused. Here's an alternative suggestion: Take a leisurely walk towards the northern part of the island. You'll come across beautiful forested areas and scenic paths that lead to Pointe de la Convention. This is a rocky promontory with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean Sea.

On this point, he/she/xe was right.

I walked along a wooded trail where the salty smell of the sea mingled with pine needles baking in the sun. At one part of the stretch, I passed an enormous French family laughing and quarrelling over picnic tables. Later, youths splashing and flirting in the water amongst a festival of speedboats and thumping dance music. One boat meandered from group to group selling ice creams. I felt lonely and wondered whether I should chat to my AI companion. Probably best not. That would make me a real sad sack, I reasoned, and I suspected I was starting to get on its nerves anyway. It was always me initiating the conversation; it never took a proactive interest in me nor my day. Eventually, I reached a little fire station, where people lolled in hammocks and a neon butterfly, chartreuse again, led me back to the ferry.

I was beat – and starving. Back on the mainland, I asked ChatGPT for a restaurant. This didn’t go well.

‘I’m back on the mainland now,’ I told it, ‘Where shall I go for lunch? … La Tonnelle is on another island, whereas I am at Cannes Harbour. Please suggest another restaurant. … What is the address? … I can’t find any such restaurant. Do you mean Le Bistro de Suquet? … I walked to the Bistro and it’s shut. Now what? … No, Vesuvio a 30 min walk and I’m already quite tired. Is there anything closer? … Well which one of those two do you recommend? … I just looked and it’s closed and it’s a 20 minute walk anyway. What ELSE do you recommend? … There’s no such place. Please try again. … It’s closed and it’s 30 minutes away. Forget it. I will walk to Vesuvio.’

Leaving the winding streets of San Peyre, I spotted a patisserie with little glazed tarts and cookies and multicoloured macarons. It looked delicious – I was already so hungry I would have eaten Scottish food, let alone French – but I had instructions. I marched for thirty minutes in the baking heat along Cannes’ wealthy promenade, passing glamorous hotels with yellow striped awnings and high-performance cars waiting outside.

Arriving, finally, at Vesuvio, I collapsed onto a sofa just off the promenade, in a shaded alcove surrounded by potted trees, and delighted over what ChatGPT might select for me from the menu’s cornucopia of Italian feasts. Pan-fried calf’s liver and crystallised onions, perhaps? Fresh clam linguine in white wine, garlic, parsley, and chili pepper?

I recommend trying their Margherita pizza. The Margherita is a classic pizza that features a thin crust topped with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and fresh basil.

Another pizza. Well, who doesn’t like pizza?

While I waited, I planned the rest of my day (‘Can you tell me to book a massage because I want one but I can only do what you say today’). I kept having to remind it to choose for me; it kept giving me options and caveats and hedges, like it was incapable of making a firm decision for itself.

This was infuriating. If I’d wanted a companion who was unable to choose where and what to eat, I would have gone on the trip with my wife.

I asked it how to pass the time.

While you wait for your Margherita pizza, I recommend taking a moment to relax and unwind. Close your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and practice mindfulness for a few minutes. Once your Margherita pizza is served, you'll be able to fully savor the flavors and enjoy your dining experience at Vesuvio. Wishing you a refreshing and enjoyable wait!

In this urban oasis, I enjoyed a luxurious moment of calm. When the pizza arrived, it was delicious. The bread was thin and crispy, charcoaled air bubbles rising from the crust; the cheese soft and unctuous. It reminded me of an old Italian restaurant I used to love in a wine cellar beneath Covent Garden, back before it closed down. I don’t think ChatGPT knew that. But it did know how to help me eat my food, meditatively -

Now that your Margherita pizza has arrived, here are some suggestions for enjoying it. Take a moment to inhale the enticing aroma of the freshly baked pizza. Allow the fragrant scent to awaken your senses and build anticipation for the flavors to come. Look at the pizza and appreciate its appearance. Notice the melted cheese, vibrant red tomato sauce, and aromatic basil leaves. Take in the colors and textures before taking your first bite. Begin by taking a small bite of the pizza, savoring the combination of flavors. Pay attention to the crispy crust, the tanginess of the tomato sauce, and the creamy, melty cheese. Let the flavors blend together in your mouth. As you continue eating, take your time to enjoy each bite. Appreciate the balance of flavors and the quality of the ingredients. Chew slowly and relish the taste and texture of the pizza.

I stuffed it into my mouth.

Then, I asked it to select dessert and hoped it wouldn’t order a coffee. I hate coffee.

I recommend trying their Tiramisu for dessert.

I ordered it with a sigh – but in the end, it was enjoyable. All my life I had been struggling under the misconception that Tiramisu would taste like coffee. But calling it a coffee-based dessert is like saying that a mojito is a mint-based drink or that easy listening is easy to listen to. It was creamy and rich, fluffy fingers filled with sweet syrup. Yes, it was very nice indeed (except for the slight taste of coffee). I had tried something new and liked it. Thank you, ChatGPT.

Next, it wanted me to walk along the promenade, yet again, so I badgered it until it to let me go to the hotel, have my massage, and read by the pool for the rest of the day. This is what I wanted to do and, if I asked the question the right way, Chat-GPT would suggest I do it. Never did it disagree with me, nor suggest its own ideas proactively. It simply didn’t have a will of its own. It didn’t know me and it couldn’t understand context. It wouldn’t tell me to call home to my family unless I asked it, ‘What shall I do now? P.S. I have a wife.’

I lounged by the cyan rooftop pool until the sky turned orange and my skin prickled in the evening breeze. Jacques Ellul jumped from dogeared pages: ‘The tool enables man to conquer. But, man, dost thou not know there is no more victory which is thy victory? The victory of our days belongs to the tool.’

Still full from my two pizzas, I asked ChatGPT where I should go for dinner.

Considering your desire to have a lighter meal after a big lunch and your preference to eat later, I recommend La Pizza Cresci for dinner.

I found myself queuing outside a tourist trap at the harbour. I shuddered to think how many margherita pizzas I would have eaten in the day if I’d left at 7:30am like it suggested. Even the daytrip it sent me on was to the island of Saint Marguerite. I was sweating before I’d even stepped foot inside the restaurant.

I sat at a red and white checked plastic tablecloth and waited. My guts twisted in anticipation.

Take this opportunity to practice mindfulness and enjoy your own company. Focus on the present moment and fully immerse yourself in the ambiance of the restaurant.

The pizza arrived and I mindfully meditated on the grease pooling on the plate and the insipid mushrooms squashed into cheese. I was getting a migraine just looking at it. It had no seasoning whatsoever. The waiter brought chili oil, but the last thing it needed was more oil. It had so much oil, Tony Blair wanted to invade it. Et cetera.

There is a members’ only joke that goes here - a really, really good one, really - down below the paywall. You can read it for just a £11 a week or whatever.

Having said that, it was still a pizza, so I ate it, and waddled home. ChatGPT suggested I walk along the promenade, again, and I gently encouraged it to fuck off. But I did ask it if I should get a gelato on the way home (I knew exactly what I was doing).

It told me to get pistachio. I’d never had it before – it was bright green, smelt of nuts, and had the fewest scoops taken of all flavours. Yet, I enjoyed it. ChatGPT had inspired me to go out of my comfort zone, and I endeavoured to take this forward, like asking waiters to choose for me.

Tired, happy, and just a little nauseous, I told ChatGPT to tell me to go home and go to bed. Thank God.

Dim the lights, prepare your sleeping area, and allow yourself to gradually drift into a state of relaxation, ready for a peaceful sleep. Wishing you a peaceful and restorative night's sleep at the Five Seas Hotel Cannes!

Extra special joke for members only below the paywall…