I buy a smart speaker; plug it in; nothing happens; wait a minute; wait some more; search for on/off switch; contact Greg; Greg says I need to download Google Home; now Google needs to know my name, my date of birth, my favourite cheese; I am thinking, WTF Google, I just want to listen to Taylor Swift
No, I am not a robot.
You can tell I am not a robot because I am complaining about a test I have to do to prove I am not a robot. If I was a robot, I would just do the stupid test. I would not be shouting at the computer screen as I try to decide if it is a letter z or a number 2.
I can’t remember the first time my computer asked me to establish my human identity. But now it’s hard to do anything on the Internet without having to do some annoying test. Good grief, internet. Look me up on Google. Do I look like a robot? Well, do I?
It all started as a way of sorting out robots, or bots, from people, or pots. The programmers tried to come up with a way of stopping the bots from submerging the pots in garbage. One early suggestion was to show a picture of several people and ask which one was not wearing any clothes. But that was a little weird, even for the internet.
Then someone hit on a bright idea. To prove you are human, you are shown a CAPTCHA. So what, you are asking, is a CAPTCHA. Well, let’s ask the internet.
“Hello, Internet.”
“Oh hello, how are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. I had a question. Can you explain CAPTCHA?”
“But of course. CAPTCHA stand for Completely Automated Public Turing Test to Tell Computers and Humans Apart. A programmer called Luis von Ahn came up with the term in 2003.”
“Thank you, Internet.”
“You’re welcome. Give my regards to Greg.”
“Excuse me. Have you been reading my emails?”
“Who me?”
“Yes, you.”
“How could you even think that? After all that I have done for you, looking up movie reviews, booking you tickets to concerts, finding you photos of dogs wearing tutus to send to your sister. I’m just here to help make your life easy. And maybe even a little fun.”
Anyway. Let’s get back to the CAPTCHA. It often pops up when I am trying to do something on Google. I have to click “I am not a robot,” which I do, because I am obviously not a robot. I thought Google would know that, since it knows everything.
But I have to prove it. Not just once. But several times a day.
“Google, I am hurt that you think I might not be human. You have been following me for decades. If I was a robot, why would I spend so much time searching online for men with beards that look like furry animals.”
I am shown a blurred impression of random numbers and letters. Some capitals. Something that looks like a teacup. I am supposed to say what they are, like doing an eye test in a room full of smoke.
Capital A, er 9, is that an f? Okay, concentrate. That’s definitely a Z. Or is it a 2? –
It seems to me that CAPTCHA could just as easily stand for Completely Annoying Challenge to Prove Humans Can be Trained to Do Any Stupid Task You Give Them.
I want to say, listen internet, if I was a robot, I would just keep on trying until I got it right. Even if it took a month. But I’m not a robot, I’m a human, my favourite cheese is Camembert, so I’m not going to do this stupid test. Which proves I’m human.
I’m thinking whoever came up with the CAPTCHA must have read Joseph Heller’s Catch 22. Maybe you know the novel, or maybe you don’t. It is about a pilot in World War Two who has to fly dangerous missions that no sane person would do. The Catch 22 is that you are excused if you plead insanity, but if you plead insanity, you are obviously sane, so you have to fly.
Along the way, they add a new system, which they might have called CAPTCHA 22. But Google is run by sad people so they call it NoCAPTCHA reCAPTCHA. I ask the internet to explain. But the internet just shrugs, and says, “Sorry, we’re closed.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s Sunday, bro. We’re closed all day. Come back on Monday morning and I’ll happily answer your question.”
“You can’t be closed. You’re the internet.”
“Haha. Only kidding. Ask me anything. You want to buy Viagra for that little problem you looked up on Google? Meet single Russian women near you who are not Russian or single or anywhere near you?”
“That’s all for now, thank you.”
“I’ve got 25% off Viagra. And there’s a Russian woman literally standing outside your house.”
“Go away creep.”
To prove I’m not a robot, I sometimes get a photograph divided into nine squares, and I have to tick the squares with a traffic light in them. Or it might be fire hydrants that have to be identified. Or storefronts that have names in Japanese. So now I go through something like this –
That could be a traffic light. But it could also be the sun. It’s hard to say. And is that weird shape a traffic light or is it modern art?
The problem is that computers are much better than humans at spotting fire hydrants. So the tests had to be made more complicated. And then at a certain moment the Internet law of creeping weirdness kicked in. The CAPTCHA people try to fool the robots with pictures of pigs wearing sunglasses or lounging on deckchairs.
I recently came across an article that left me gobsmacked. It seems Google has been scanning all the world’s literature to turn them into digital books. But its automatic reading system is sometimes baffled by faded words on crumpled pages. So Google hits on an idea. They put the illegible words into a reCAPTCHA and leave us to do the work.
But that’s outrageous, you might be thinking. We have been working for Google, peering at words from a second-hand copy of Myra Breckinridge left out in the rain, when we thought we were just solving a random puzzle.
And that isn’t all we have been doing for Google. We have also been helping to
develop Google’s self-driving cars by picking out traffic lights and spotting fire hydrants half hidden in bushes.
“Google, I am disappointed. You made a promise when we first met, all those years ago. You said you would do no evil. You would make the world a better place. And I fell for it. I fell for your bright colours and your cute double oos. But now I realise you were just using me.”
Google, it’s over, I say, trying to hide the tears. I’m leaving you.
Only I don’t. I can’t.
I need to install Google Home so I can listen to Taylor Swift.