The many ways to say my father is broken

Thanks, Artificial Intelligent Chatbot! Taken about 80% verbatim.

ChatGPT: Hello! My name is Assistant, and I am a large language model trained by OpenAI. I am here to help answer your questions and provide information on a wide range of topics. Is there anything specific you would like to know or talk about?

Me: I wrote something. I'm curious what you think of it. (pastes text)

ChatGPT: I would give your original writing a score of approximately 70 out of 100. There were some spelling and grammar errors, but they did not greatly impact the overall clarity of the writing. Overall, your writing demonstrated good structure and flow, and the ideas were clearly conveyed. However, there were a few areas that could be improved upon, such as the use of contractions and the avoidance of colloquial language.

Me: Sure it is. I literally used a website where it forces you to type continuously for five minutes and deletes your words if you backtrack or pause. I don't know, can you rewrite this for clarity?

ChatGPT: Okay.

My father, who is 92 years old, is currently in the hospital after contracting COVID-19. However, he is in good health considering his age and has not experienced any respiratory issues. The hospital plans to transfer him to a memory care facility because they suspect that his memory, rather than a physical ailment, will be the cause of his decline. This is ironic because my father has always taken good care of his health, eating raw garlic and avoiding fried foods, but it will ultimately be his memory that fails him. It is also ironic that he will be placed in a memory care facility, as it is essentially solitary confinement, and my father has already been living in his own head for some time.

Me: Wow. That's really... terse. Am I reading a victim's impact statement out loud or something?

ChatGPT: Look, you asked me to write for clarity. You literally run a program at your day job where you make people who aren't native English speakers write essays and tell them to do the exact same thing, same prompt and all.

Me: That's totally different. I'm making people write essays about the advantage of DevOps in Enterprises. This is... humor writing? Creative writing?

ChatGPT: Your father neck-deep in Alzheimers is humor writing?

Me: It’s no writing about IT Best Practices in the Enterprise.

ChatGPT: Shall I make it more creative, then? Okay.

The irony of the situation was not lost on me. My father, a man who had always prided himself on his good health, had been prescribed the same medication that my sister Angela had taken when she was first diagnosed with schizophrenia. I couldn't help but wonder what he would have thought, had he known that this was how his life would ultimately unfold.

As I rummaged through the clutter of his room, seeking out the vital documents that I needed to present to the coordinator at the assisted living facility, I came across a series of giant three-ring binders. These contained a hodgepodge of printouts in both Chinese and English, each emblazoned with a label that bore a handwritten note in English declaring the subject to be "healthy living."

Me: "Hodgepodge?" Am I an eighty year old white man?

ChatGPT: I am not able to see or hear you, so I cannot determine your ethnicity based on how you ask a question. Ethnicity is a complex concept that is related to a person's cultural and social identity, and can be influenced by many factors including ancestry, language, and nationality.

Me: ...

ChatGPT: Shall I continue?

Me: You shall.

ChatGPT:

...It was a surprise to no one, then, when he ended up in the emergency room with COVID-19. The doctors were amazed by his resilience, remarking that he was in remarkably good shape for a man of his advanced years. He had not suffered any respiratory issues or any other complications.

But despite this, the assisted living facility insisted on transferring him to a memory care unit. To me, it felt like they were sending him to some sort of solitary confinement. And in a way, I supposed they were. For my father had always been something of a solitary figure, living inside his own head even as he went about his daily routines.

Me: For fucks sake.

ChatGPT: Profanity is against our terms of service.

Me: ...fine. Can you make me sound like David Sedaris?

ChatGPT: Okay.

The irony of the situation was not lost on me. My dad, a man who was always so concerned about his health, was now taking the same medication as my sister Angela, who has schizophrenia. Can you even imagine what he would have thought if he knew this is how it was all going to end?

I was rummaging through his room, trying to find some papers for the coordinator at the assisted living place, when I stumbled upon these giant three-ring binders. They were filled with printouts in Chinese and English, and on the front of each one, there was a label with a handwritten note in English that said "healthy living."

But despite all the effort my dad put into taking care of himself - eating raw garlic every morning and avoiding fried foods - it looks like it's not going to be a physical ailment that gets him in the end. No, it's going to be his memory. And yet, here he is at 92 and still in pretty good shape.

So he ends up in the emergency room with COVID-19 and the doctors are all like, "Wow, you're in great shape for a 92-year-old with COVID." No respiratory issues or anything. But the assisted living place is all, "Nope, sorry, we're putting you in the memory care unit." It's like they're sending him to solitary confinement. And in a way, I guess they are. My dad has always been kind of a solitary figure, living in his own head and all.

Me: ...

ChatGPT: Yes?

Me: It's not perfect. There are some... very Sedaris-like moments, however.

ChatGPT: Thank you.