Horror of shouting into the void

Forget the dystopian nightmare of robots stealing our jobs, or algorithms plotting humanity's obsolescence. The true apocalypse is far more banal: the moment when every customer complaint is funnelled into a digital abyss guarded by an AI chat box that sounds exactly like Ramesh or Gita, but with none of their capacity for shame. Consider this scenario: you've waited three weeks for a toaster that finally arrives, shaped like toast. You dial customer service, bracing for battle, and giving the person at the other end a piece of your absolutely not-peaceful mind. Instead of a weary human who might at least sigh empathetically, or cower with fear like an airline ground staff facing the latest airport mob, you're greeted by an AI programmed to respond with cheery indifference. You scream, 'This toaster does not toast,' and you get the calm-as-Spock reply: 'I understand your concern. Have you tried turning it off and on again?' Who do you direct your cathartic, BP-spiking rage at? An entity that is artificial in its intelligence and sentiment?

A future of humans shouting into the void is very real. The real tragedy is not economic displacement but the death of righteous indignation. When the revolution comes, it won't be led by workers but by customers, demanding one thing: the right to scream one's head off at someone who'll be upset.