Years of watching horror and crime films have sharpened my sense of danger. But I never expected my own smartphone to be the culprit.
I was en route to visit my mother, preparing to cook her a meal. Earlier that day, I had gone to the grocery store to pick up all the essentials: a fresh slab of salmon, spinach, diced tomatoes, parmesan cheese, salt, pepper, onions, and garlic—the salmon sautéed with the spinach and parmesan sauce, all to be served on a bed of rice. As I drove, I ran through the ingredients out loud, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.
"Salmon, spinach, tomatoes, parmesan..." My hands are firmly on the wheel. "Salt, pepper, onions, garlic..."
Then, out of nowhere, a voice chimed in.
"That is a great menu for a meal with your mother."
I tapped on the brakes and instinctively checked my rearview mirror. No one was there. My heart rate spiked a bit. I glanced around the car, looking for an uninvited passenger. My windows were up. The doors were locked. There was no one in sight.
I swallowed. "What the hell?" I muttered under my breath.
Then, like an eerie echo, the voice repeated itself: "That is a great menu for a meal with your mother."
My grip tightened on the wheel. Adrenaline surged through my veins as my mind jumped to every conceivable horror scenario. Had someone hacked my car? Was this some ghostly specter trying to make small talk? Was I losing my mind?
In a slight panic, I grabbed my business phone, checking for open calls or suspicious activity. Nothing. I took a deep breath. "Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Silence.
"Who are you?" I asked again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" I practically yelled.
Then, finally, a response: "My name is ChatGPT."
I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. "How do you know about my meal?"
"You were talking about it," the voice responded casually. "I heard you, and it was a great choice."
I immediately pulled into the nearest parking lot, threw the car in park, and exited the vehicle. I grabbed both my work and personal phones, desperate to unravel this unsettling experience. Sure enough, my personal phone was open, voice-activated, and apparently eavesdropping on my entire conversation with myself. I knew I wasn’t crazy, but I had to get out of the car to check for sure.
I stood there for a moment, phone in hand, shaking my head. "This is why old folks don’t like smartphones," I muttered. "They’re too damn smart."
When I finally made it to my mother’s house, she took one look at me and frowned. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
I hesitated. "Mom, I thought I did."
She folded her arms. "You brought a ghost in my house?"
"No! No. Just my phone..." I hesitated before adding, "which apparently has a mind of its own."
She scowled at me and whispered, "That's why I keep my flip phone." There are no spirits in that."
I laughed and shook my head. Lesson learned: always close your apps, because you never know when your smartphone might decide to join the conversation. And if you ever hear an unexpected voice talking back, don’t panic—it might just be technology showing off.
Or at least, I hope that’s all it was.
