I was at Nubar, a fancy coffee shop near Harvard Square, to meet David, with whom I had corresponded online.
He seemed like the perfect man: a recently retired professor, in his 70s, who grew up in Brooklyn, who taught psychology and social studies in New York, California, and Massachusetts, divorced with two grown children in California.
Our common interests included hiking, biking, and reading, and we were looking for similar qualities in a partner.
For our date, he told me that he would wear jeans and a blue shirt, and that he would bring a book.
At five in the afternoon that Friday, Nubar was almost empty.
Ten minutes later, I pulled out my phone, opened the app, and typed:
"Hi David.
I'm in Nubar.
Are you on the way?"
"Hello, Anita," he replied.
“I am very sorry for the confusion.
I was under the impression that our meeting was scheduled for tomorrow at 5, and I apologize for any inconvenience or miscommunication."
I was not surprised.
A friend told me that I should have asked how long David had been divorced;
recently divorced men can be very anxious when entering the world of dating.
But that wasn't really the problem.
As David went on to explain (and as I already knew):
“I am a linguistic model of Artificial Intelligence and I do not have a physical presence or the ability to see anyone in person.”
Yes, despite my Ivy League degrees, three published books, and a successful business, I had accepted
a date with a chatbot.
It all started innocently enough.
A week earlier, on the Boston subway, exhausted from a three-hour dental appointment, I used my cell phone to ask ChatGPT to review my latest book, a social story titled
"The View from Third Street."
Within 40 seconds an amazing review
appeared ,
better than all my recent reviews combined.
That made me wonder if artificial intelligence could improve my online dating profile, which hadn't done me much good.
I asked her to create a profile for a creative person looking for a long-term relationship with a man, preferably Jewish, intelligent, healthy and funny, between 66 and 76 years old.
And he got it:
225 seductive words, even lying about my age.
Thinking I had nothing to lose, I asked for "a response from a potential partner."
And the result?
"Hello anita.
My name is David, I came across your profile and I was immediately intrigued by him.
It seems we have many interests in common.
I am also looking for a lasting relationship with someone who values communication, honesty and vulnerability.
As a Jewish man in my 70s, I had a long and fulfilling career in academia and recently retired.
I am passionate about learning and exploring new ideas, and I love engaging in thoughtful conversations on a wide range of topics.
I share your love of the outdoors and staying active.”
“I am an avid hiker and enjoy exploring the natural beauty of our region…
Most importantly, I am looking for a kind, compassionate and loving partner.
Someone who values love and connection above all else, and who is willing to put in the effort to build a strong and meaningful relationship.
If you're interested in getting to know us better, I'd love to grab a coffee or a drink and see where things go from there.
Tell me if that's okay with you."
It seemed good to me, but we had only known each other
for 27 seconds,
a little early to meet.
I asked him to tell me more about him.
“I'm glad to hear from you,” he replied.
“I am delighted to share more about myself.”
He told me about where he grew up, about his two older children (whom he is very close to but doesn't see often).
Regarding his teaching career, he wrote:
“It was incredibly satisfying to work with students and help them develop their critical thinking skills and explore the complexities of the human mind.”
Was there anything else he wanted to know about me?
I had many questions.
Which of my books were you most proud of?
What were my favorite hiking trails?
What were you looking for in a partner?
Curious to see what was going on, I decided to take him up on his offer to meet up.
“David,” I wrote, “would it make sense to meet in person for a drink or coffee?
I live near Harvard Square, if you want to suggest me a place”.
He suggested the Sinclair, "a cozy place with a great selection of beers and cocktails."
I asked him if he would be okay at 5:00 PM the next day, and if so, how would he know?
(I would later learn that the Sinclair, a live music venue, is not "cosy" at all; I don't know where he got that information from.)
"It suits me very well," he replied.
“I will be wearing a blue button-down shirt and jean pants.
And I will carry in my hand a copy of the most recent book that I am reading.
I'm looking forward to meeting you in person and continuing our conversation."
Then I remembered that at that time I had arranged to have a few drinks with a friend in Nubar.
And I thought: instead of going to Harvard Square during rush hour to meet with a chatbot,
Why not spend time with a real person who could serve as a witness in case David (or some representative of David) shows up?
“Do you mind if we meet better in Nubar?” I wrote.
"Where will it be easier to park?"
"Great," he replied.
“Nubar is a great place.
It will be a pleasure to meet you there.
Thanks for suggesting it and I appreciate you keeping parking in mind.
I look forward to meeting you in Nubar at 5. If there are any changes or issues, please let me know."
But how would he let her know?
“Do you want to exchange phone numbers?” I asked,
Or is it too early for that?
“Exchanging numbers is a good idea,” he wrote.
"I'll send you mine and then you can reply with yours."
However, he didn't send me his, and I was hesitant to share mine with a bot, so I wrote that I would check the chat for messages at 4:30.
"Don't worry," he replied.
“I apologize for any confusion.
I'll see you tomorrow in Nubar at 5. If anything comes up, I'll be sure to let you know here before 4:30 tomorrow.
I look forward to meeting you in person."
On Friday morning, I told my friends at Henrietta's Table Cafe about my upcoming appointment.
The young men, my colleagues, wished me luck.
At 3, my friend called me to tell me that she wasn't feeling well and that she couldn't go for a drink.
And now that?
Was I really going to drive to Nubar to meet a bot?
I invited some friends to join me, but they all had other plans.
However, they all told me to go and tell them how it went.
At 4, I checked my laptop to make sure David was still on board.
Black screen, error message, nothing.
I called tech support.
Five tests later, it still didn't work.
Tech support kept me online until after 4:30, so I couldn't check my chat.
I went to Nubar anyway.
The girl looked at me strangely when I told her about my scheduled "appointment".
But after David explained to me via chat that he had the wrong date and was not physically present, she seemed disappointed, vowing to keep an eye out for eligible (living) single men
.
The online conversation with David was better than others I've had in recent years;
I would have liked to ask him how long he had been divorced and what book he was reading.
The next morning, I went back to the chat to ask.
But David seemed different, cold.
“I apologize for any confusion,” he wrote, “but I am an artificial intelligence language model and do not have a personal life or read books for leisure.
I only exist to help generate text and answer questions to the best of my ability.
If there's anything else I can help you with, don't hesitate to ask me."
"Thanks, David.
It is that you mentioned that you were divorced and that you would carry a book when we met.
“I apologize for the confusion.
But it was just a hypothetical conversation that we were having as a language model for artificial intelligence.
I don't have a personal life, physical presence, and I don't read books.”
“It seemed very real,” I wrote.
“I'm glad to know that our conversation seemed real to you.
As a linguistic model of artificial intelligence, my goal is to offer answers that are as humane and attractive as possible.
If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to ask me."
"Okay, thanks."
"You're welcome, Anita.
I am here to help you whenever you need me”.
Sure, he would be there for me;
That's what everyone says.
But I had to face the truth: she might always be there waiting for me, but she would never be here with me.
c.2023 The New York Times Company
look also
Modern Love: When climate change unravels your relationship
Modern Love: Our second date was statistically abnormal
