SATURDAY MORNING WITH CRANKY DON JOE | Artificial Intelligence Is Supposed to Make Life Easier. So Why Is Everybody Worried About Losing Their Jobs?

By Cranky Don Joe 

My name is Cranky Don Joe. Cranky DJ to a lot of my neighbors. I am not an expert on artificial intelligence, which immediately puts me ahead of Larry, because I am willing to admit that I don't know whether computers are going to take everybody's jobs.

Larry watched a forty-minute webinar on Tuesday and has been explaining the future of human employment ever since. By Thursday, he was recommending that I embrace automation, learn three new skills, and prepare for a world in which machines do most of the work. I asked him who would be paying my electric bill in this wonderful new world. He told me I was resisting progress.

I have nothing against progress. I like my microwave oven, my washing machine, and the fact that I no longer have to stand beside a television twisting an antenna until the evening news stops looking like a snowstorm. I appreciate technology that saves me time. What I don't understand is why every new invention arrives with a promise to make my life easier and a set of instructions explaining how much more work I must do before I can enjoy the convenience. The television needs a software update, the refrigerator wants to connect to the internet, and my printer has developed the habit of refusing to print until I acknowledge a message about a service I never requested. I bought the printer because I wanted something printed; apparently, that was an unreasonable expectation.

Artificial intelligence has taken this arrangement to a whole new level. People tell me it can write letters, organize schedules, analyze documents, prepare presentations, answer customer questions, and perform tasks that once kept entire offices busy. Some employers are looking for ways to use it to reduce costs, and some workers are worried about what that means for their jobs. Others are discovering that the technology can take tedious work off their hands and give them more time for things that require actual human judgment. I can understand why people are interested. I can also understand why somebody who has spent twenty years becoming good at a profession might feel uneasy when a company announces that a computer can now perform part of that profession before lunch.

Larry, naturally, considers the entire development tremendously exciting.

He arrived at my house shortly after nine on Saturday morning carrying his laptop, a travel mug, and a notebook labeled AI TRANSFORMATION STRATEGY. He had made the label himself. Larry has always believed that a project becomes more important once it has a title printed in capital letters.

"Don, we're living through a technological revolution," he announced. I told him I was trying to live through breakfast.

He sat at my kitchen table without waiting to be invited and opened his laptop. He wanted to demonstrate how artificial intelligence could improve my daily routine. I asked whether the demonstration would require creating an account, downloading an application, or giving somebody permission to collect information about me.

"Not necessarily," he said.

I have known Larry long enough to understand that this was not a reassuring answer.

He explained that the real advantage of AI was productivity: tasks that once required hours could now be completed in minutes. Businesses could operate more efficiently, employees could concentrate on higher-value responsibilities, and people like me could spend less time dealing with routine obligations.

I asked whether he had used the technology to finish cleaning his garage.

"That's different." "Why?" "Because the garage requires physical labor." "So does taking out the trash, Larry. Has artificial intelligence figured that out?"

He said robotics would eventually address many physical tasks as well. I asked whether the robots would also return borrowed extension cords. Larry looked up from his laptop and reminded me that he had already returned mine after Halloween. I told him I was pleased he remembered, because I had begun to suspect the cord had entered a long-term research program.

Larry said I was missing the larger point: the technology was not intended simply to replace people; it could help them become more productive.

That sounded reasonable enough, so I asked him to explain what would happen if a company discovered that ten employees could now accomplish the work previously performed by fifteen.

He said the company might expand its operations, develop new services, or assign those employees to more valuable work.

"Or it might decide it only needs ten employees," I said. He admitted that was possible. "What happens to the other five?" "They may need to retrain." "For what?" "New opportunities." "What new opportunities?"

He paused, took a drink of coffee, and told me the labor market was evolving.

I asked whether the labor market had informed the five employees where they were supposed to report on Monday morning. Larry said I was oversimplifying a complicated economic transition. I agreed that it was complicated, particularly for the people whose rent was due while everybody else discussed the transition.

He decided a practical demonstration would be more useful than an argument. He opened an AI assistant and announced that we would begin by improving my household efficiency.

His first suggestion was to create a weekly meal plan. I told him I already had one: I ate what was in the refrigerator, and when there was nothing left, I went to the grocery store. Larry said that approach lacked structure. He typed a request for a nutritious, economical seven-day meal plan for a retired man living in Minnesota.

The computer produced an elaborate schedule containing breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, and a detailed shopping list. Larry read it aloud with the enthusiasm of a man announcing a major scientific discovery: Monday's breakfast involved Greek yogurt, chia seeds, blueberries, and something called overnight oats; Tuesday included quinoa; Wednesday required fresh salmon; and by Thursday, I was expected to prepare a vegetable dish containing ingredients I had never purchased and could not confidently pronounce.

I asked how much the groceries would cost. Larry entered another request. The computer estimated a budget, and he explained that the total would vary depending on local prices and store availability.

I told him my usual breakfast was two eggs and toast.

"That's not the point, Don." "Then what is the point?" "The system is helping you make informed decisions." "I was already informed, Larry. I knew I wanted eggs."

He suggested that we could customize the plan to reflect my preferences. I asked whether we could customize it until it told me to eat the eggs I already owned. He typed several more instructions, reviewed the revised schedule, and finally announced that the computer recommended two eggs and toast for breakfast.

We had spent twenty minutes discovering what I had known when he walked through the door. Larry called that personalization; I called it Saturday morning.

His next demonstration involved composing a message to Helen. He explained that AI could help people communicate more clearly, especially when discussing difficult subjects. I asked what difficult subject he needed to discuss with his wife.

He said he had promised to repair a loose cabinet handle in their kitchen and had not yet found the time. Helen had reminded him about it several times, and he wanted to send a thoughtful message acknowledging the delay.

I suggested he fix the handle.

Larry said communication was an important part of maintaining a healthy relationship. I agreed, but I thought a screwdriver might be more effective in this particular situation.

He typed a request for a warm, professional message apologizing to his wife for failing to complete a household repair. The computer produced several paragraphs expressing appreciation for Helen's patience, acknowledging the inconvenience, and committing to a realistic timeline for resolving the issue.

Larry read the message carefully. "That's actually very good," he said. I asked whether he intended to send it. "With a few adjustments."

I told him Helen had been married to him long enough to recognize when he had suddenly begun communicating like the human resources department of a large insurance company. He ignored me and sent a shortened version.

A few minutes later, his phone rang. It was Helen. I could hear her without the speakerphone.

"Larry, did you use that computer thing to write me a letter about the cabinet?" He looked at me. "Well, I used it to help organize my thoughts." "Your thoughts about a cabinet handle?" "I wanted to acknowledge your concerns." "Larry, my concern is that the handle is still loose."

He tried to explain that the message represented a commitment to action. Helen told him that if he had enough time to compose a formal apology, he had enough time to walk into the garage, get the screwdriver, and repair the cabinet. Then she asked whether the computer had provided a completion date.

Larry admitted that it had suggested one. "What date?" "Next Tuesday." "Wonderful. Tell the computer I expect the handle fixed by noon."

She hung up.

Larry stared at the phone for several seconds before closing the messaging window. I asked whether the artificial intelligence had improved his communication. He said Helen had misunderstood the intention, but I told him she had understood it perfectly: she wanted the cabinet fixed.

About that time, Frank came over carrying a small package he had received by mistake. The delivery driver had left it at his house instead of mine. Frank noticed Larry's laptop and asked whether we were working on something.

Larry explained that he was demonstrating the benefits of artificial intelligence. Frank pulled out a chair.

"Good. Ask it why the Vikings keep breaking my heart."

Larry said the technology could analyze sports statistics, but he doubted it could answer a question that subjective. Frank told him that was disappointing; he had been hoping for a breakthrough.

Then Larry began describing how AI might transform the workplace. Frank listened for a while before asking whether companies were really going to replace employees with computers.

Larry said some jobs would change, some tasks would be automated, and new occupations would emerge. He explained that technological change had always affected employment, from agricultural machinery to factory automation and personal computers.

Frank agreed that new technology had created jobs in the past, but he also pointed out that people who lost their jobs during those transitions did not necessarily become the people hired for the new ones.

"My cousin worked in a warehouse for twenty-three years," Frank said. "When they brought in new equipment, everybody talked about efficiency. My cousin still had to find another job. Efficiency didn't pay his mortgage."

Larry acknowledged that workers could face difficult transitions, and said training and education would be important.

Frank asked whether the companies benefiting from automation would help pay for that training. Larry said that depended on the employer.

"And while somebody's being trained, who's paying the bills?" Larry admitted that was an important policy question.

Frank looked at me. "Every time I ask him where the money comes from, it becomes a policy question."

I told Frank that was how Larry's explanations worked: as long as we discussed productivity, the future looked wonderful; the moment somebody mentioned groceries, rent, or health insurance, we had apparently wandered into advanced economics.

Larry objected that artificial intelligence could create opportunities for entrepreneurs and small businesses. He said somebody running a one-person operation might use it to prepare invoices, develop marketing materials, answer routine questions, and compete with larger organizations.

That was a fair point, and I told him so. A small business owner who spends evenings sorting paperwork might welcome a tool that gives back a few hours; a teacher preparing classroom materials might find it useful; and a mechanic might benefit from faster access to technical information, provided the information is accurate. Technology can be valuable without becoming the answer to every problem.

Larry appeared relieved that I had finally said something favorable.

Then Frank asked whether the computer could run a neighborhood association meeting. Larry said it could help prepare an agenda, summarize discussions, and organize action items. Frank wanted to know whether it could stop Larry from talking after the meeting was supposed to end, and I told him that might require a more advanced system.

Larry decided we were not taking the demonstration seriously enough. He opened another window and asked the AI assistant to prepare a Saturday schedule that would maximize his productivity while allowing time for household chores, exercise, professional development, and relaxation.

The computer produced a detailed itinerary beginning at seven in the morning. It included thirty minutes of stretching, forty-five minutes of reading, a structured breakfast, a household maintenance period, a learning session, a neighborhood engagement activity, and several short breaks.

Frank examined the schedule. "Where's lunch?" Larry pointed to a thirty-minute block. "Where's your nap?" "I don't usually take a nap." "Maybe that's your problem."

I noticed that the schedule included a forty-five-minute period for professional development and asked what profession Larry was developing. He explained that he was exploring opportunities in AI consulting.

Frank looked interested. "Consulting on what?" "Helping people adopt artificial intelligence." "How long have you been using it?" "Several months."

Frank considered that. "So you're going to charge people to explain something you're still learning?" Larry said consultants were expected to continue learning throughout their careers.

I told Frank that Larry had already been consulting for free around the neighborhood for years: he had advised us about snow removal, lawn maintenance, recycling, emergency preparedness, and Halloween safety. Charging for it might be the only thing he hadn't tried.

Larry said I was being unfair; he had valuable organizational experience. Frank reminded him about the Halloween incident when he had appointed himself safety director and ended up being frightened by a remote-controlled spider. Larry said that had been an isolated equipment problem, but I pointed out that the equipment had belonged to a child and that the child had operated it considerably more successfully than Larry had operated his entire haunted garage.

Larry closed the scheduling window. He was beginning to lose confidence in his audience.

That afternoon, he decided to test the technology on a genuine neighborhood problem. The association was looking for volunteers to help coordinate its winter preparedness meeting, and Larry wanted to submit a proposal. He asked the AI assistant to draft an application describing his leadership experience, community involvement, organizational skills, and commitment to public safety.

Within seconds, the computer produced a polished statement presenting Larry as an experienced community leader with a strong record of coordinating neighborhood initiatives. He read it aloud. Frank listened with growing interest.

"Who is that fellow?" "Me," Larry said. "Are you sure?"

The application referred to Larry's experience managing public safety initiatives, developing community preparedness strategies, and overseeing seasonal neighborhood operations. It sounded impressive, although I recognized several activities that had consisted mainly of Larry printing instructions and trying to persuade unwilling neighbors to follow them.

I asked whether the statement accurately described what he had done. Larry said it reflected his experience in professional language. I reminded him that his Halloween safety operation had never been authorized by the neighborhood association. He said that did not diminish the planning involved.

Frank asked whether the computer had included the spider incident. Larry said it had not.

"Then the application is incomplete," Frank told him.

Larry revised the statement to remove some of the grander claims. I thought that was sensible: there was nothing wrong with using technology to improve the wording of an application, but the person submitting it still had to make sure the facts were correct. A computer could make Larry sound like the director of a statewide emergency management agency, but it could not make his neighbors forget that he had once measured the distance between a plastic tombstone and Frank's sidewalk.

By late afternoon, Helen called again. She wanted to know whether Larry was coming home to repair the cabinet.

He told her he had been conducting an important technology demonstration. She asked whether the demonstration was finished.

"Almost." "Good. Bring your screwdriver."

He promised he would be home shortly.

Then, apparently determined to prove that the day had not been wasted, Larry asked the computer for a step-by-step guide to tightening a loose kitchen cabinet handle. The instructions appeared immediately: they advised him to inspect the screws, identify the appropriate screwdriver, tighten the hardware carefully, and replace damaged fasteners if necessary.

Larry looked pleased. "See, Don? That's exactly what I'm talking about. It makes everything easier." I asked how long the repair would take. "Probably five minutes." "How long have you been putting it off?" "About three weeks."

Frank stood up. "Well, there's your technological breakthrough. The computer has finally convinced you to do something your wife told you to do three weeks ago."

Larry packed his laptop and left.

About twenty minutes later, he called me from his kitchen: he had tightened the handle, but one screw had been stripped and needed replacing. He wanted to know whether I had a spare. I told him to check his garage. He said he had already looked. I asked whether he had tried asking the computer where he kept his screws, but he did not appreciate that suggestion.

Frank, who was still sitting in my kitchen, offered to bring over a small box of assorted hardware. He had the right screw, and the repair was completed before Helen finished preparing dinner.

Later, Helen sent me a photograph of the cabinet with the handle properly attached. Beneath it, she had written: "Three weeks, one webinar, two computer-generated messages, and Frank's screwdriver. Progress."

I showed Frank. He said Helen ought to be the neighborhood's technology consultant.

By Sunday morning, Larry had sent me another message. This one contained a short essay about how artificial intelligence could help communities adapt to economic change. He had clearly spent part of the evening thinking about our conversation.

I read it over coffee. Some of the points were reasonable: AI can make useful information easier to obtain and reduce time spent on repetitive tasks; it can also make mistakes, produce confident answers that are wrong, and create new problems when people rely on it without checking the results. Employers have legitimate reasons to explore tools that improve productivity, and workers have equally legitimate reasons to ask how those improvements will affect their employment, wages, and opportunities.

The difficult part is that nobody can tell every worker exactly how the next several years will unfold. Some occupations will change substantially, some tasks may disappear, and other kinds of work may grow. The effects will depend on the technology, the industry, the decisions employers make, and whether workers have meaningful opportunities to adapt. Anybody who claims to know precisely how many jobs will exist ten years from now is making a prediction, not reporting a settled fact.

I don't object to machines doing work that people would rather not do. If a computer can help a nurse spend less time on paperwork and more time with patients, that sounds useful; if it helps a small business owner prepare an invoice without staying up until midnight, I can appreciate that; and if it assists somebody learning a new skill or navigating a complicated task, there is value in that too.

What concerns me is how casually some people discuss the workers who might be displaced. They speak about retraining as though a person can simply put a twenty-year career in a cardboard box, enroll in a course, and emerge three months later with a new profession, a comparable salary, and no interruption in mortgage payments. Some people will make those transitions successfully; others will need time, financial support, and opportunities that may not be available where they live.

I thought about Frank's cousin, who had to find another job after his warehouse changed its operations. I thought about the people who answer phones, prepare reports, process documents, and perform the thousands of ordinary tasks that keep businesses functioning. I wondered how many of them were being invited into conversations about the technology that might change their work.

Then I thought about Larry. He had spent most of Saturday demonstrating a system that could prepare meal plans, compose messages, organize schedules, and draft impressive applications, yet the most useful thing he accomplished all weekend was tightening a cabinet handle with a screwdriver borrowed from Frank.

I called him to ask how the cabinet was holding up.

"Perfectly," he said. "Good. Did you thank Frank?" "Of course." "Did you thank the computer?"

He laughed. "Don, you're never going to let me forget this, are you?" "Not while the cabinet's still attached."

He told me he was considering another webinar, this one about how AI could help people prepare for future careers. I said that sounded interesting and asked whether he planned to attend.

"Absolutely." "What time?" "Saturday morning."

I told him I would be busy.

"Doing what?" "Trying to enjoy a world in which I can still make breakfast without a consultant."

He laughed again and said I would eventually come around.

Perhaps I will. I have been wrong about technology before, and I expect to be wrong again. I once thought nobody needed a telephone they could carry everywhere; now I use one to check the weather, read the news, and discover that Larry has sent me another document.

But I still think the people celebrating a future in which machines do more of the work ought to spend a little more time explaining what happens to the people whose work the machines replace. That seems like a reasonable question to ask before declaring the future a complete success.

As for Larry, he sent me one final message Sunday evening: he wanted to know whether I would help him organize a neighborhood workshop titled Preparing for the AI-Powered Future.

I asked who would be teaching it. He said he would, with assistance from artificial intelligence.

I asked whether the computer knew it had been hired. Larry said that wasn't how the technology worked.

I told him he should probably ask it anyway: given everything we had heard about computers taking people's jobs, I thought it deserved to know that Larry was planning to take credit for its work.

He has not replied. I suspect he's preparing a presentation.

Until next time, Cranky DJ

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