A Time magazine essay on the perils of artificial intelligence concluded that we should shut it down right now before it kills us all, and we should nuke any country that tries to make AI smarter. I'm inclined to agree, and here's why.

First, we have to back up to last Friday. I had a hankering for a particular brand of pizza. It arrived via a random thought: "Been a while since I had one of those. Wonder if I'll be as disappointed this time as the last."

I used to call them up to place an order, but they'd answer in an irritated tone that lets you know that they are very busy making pizzas, and now here you are, wanting them to make more pizzas. What is it with you people and the pizzas?

You hear people shouting in the back and things dropping, like they were trying to corner a raccoon in the kitchen and then you interrupted them. "Why can't you do this in a way that avoids all human contact?" they snap. "You know, like a normal person? On an app."

So I use the app. First decision: crust. Do I want Spongy Wonder Bread or Barely Moist Fried Newspaper? Choose the toppings, request extra sauce because they usually apply the sauce with an eyedropper, decline extra cheese, decline cheesy carb rods, hit ORDER. Success!

Wait a minute!

What happened to the option to order in the future? It was only 3 p.m. when I did this, and I'd intended to have it delivered at 6. This was one of the great innovations of online ordering: You could tell them you wanted your pizza at 6 p.m. on April 13, 2027, and that's when it would arrive. I'd ordered it for now. Gah.

I called the store, and a hideously cheerful recorded voice, all apple-cheeks and dimples and bright-eyed monomania, thanked me for calling and immediately began telling me that I should apply to drive pizza around town. This is like calling the dentist to make an appointment for cleaning and the receptionist says, "Join our team of fun, motivated dental extraction specialists! You supply the initiative, we supply the pliers!"

This was followed by another high-volume ad that commenced with the calamitous sound of ice clattering into a container, followed by an almost obscene sound of pop pouring from a spout, complete with effervescent fizz.

The same recorded voice asked me if I wanted some Coke to go with my pizza. Never occurred to me before! What an audacious pairing! Let me back up though and see if I understand this — you're saying I should drink Coke AND eat pizza? Like, alternate them? How does that work? Is there a YouTube tutorial I can check out?

This went on for four minutes. No human interceded to break the onslaught. I stabbed the 0 on the phone repeatedly, because that stands for 0perator, and when that didn't work, I shouted OPERATOR, as if that was a magic spell that would summon a human.

While on hold, I went back to the app to see if I could find a "cancel" button, and that's when I noticed something that added a whole new level of madness. The app has a progress bar that tells you how your order's going.

The pizza was already in the oven.

I went back to the phone and typed 00000000000 and cried OPERATOR! But there was no one to hear my plea. Next step? Hang up and start again, of course, because that always works. Same sequence of loud ads. Same sound of hissing soda. 000000! 0000! I checked the progress bar: the pizza was out of the oven and was being quality-checked.

Six minutes later, I was still on hold. I checked the progress bar. The pizza was out for delivery. I was helpless. I was going to get a pizza at 3:27 p.m.

Out of desperation, I hung up and tried again. To my amazement, a human picked up the phone.

In a tumble of words, I explained that I had made a terrible error, hadn't chosen future delivery and now the pizza was heading straight for my house. Wave it off! Abort! Return to base!

As the man on the phone looked for my order, I saw the car pull up outside my house. The delivery guy started up the stairs. I could hide. I could move! The way the housing market is, I probably could sell by the time he got to the door.

The manager came back on the line and said, "It's canceled, we'll send it back at 6:15."

There are two lessons here. One: All my calls had gone to a central location controlled by computers. There was no way to beat the machine. If AI decides to wipe us out, we'll spend our last days punching 0 over and over and shouting OPERATOR to no avail.

Two: The "deliver at a future moment" option has been removed, which is why I didn't see it when I checked out. Great. Now I have to think of something else to eat on April 13, 2027. Unless AI rubs us out before then.