MARKeting (5)

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5. Non-Disclosure

For the longest time, secrets were easy to keep, because not keeping them usually led to public execution. If a loose-lipped hunter revealed the tribe’s best hunting spot, they were brutally murdered as an example. It was barbaric, but simple and efficient. These public displays of violence frequently occurred in front of the offender’s offspring which led to sufficient secret keeping through generational trauma. While sticky morally, generational trauma has proven time and time again to be an incredible motivator.

            However, by the time business arose in earnest, public executions were rapidly falling out of fashion. Violence became clandestine and moved into the realm of politics. Even still, it was difficult to keep a secret. Politicians loved secrets almost as much as they loved sharing things they weren’t supposed to. This made early governments a mess of figurative and literal backstabbing. It was not uncommon to arrive at work one day and find that Bob had been eviscerated on the podium for revealing Frank’s extramarital affair. To some degree, not much has changed.

Luckily—for the janitors that were tired of mopping up the aftermath of politics at least—politicians loved one thing more than secrets: paperwork. In an effort to curb stabbings and constant elections as a result of dwindling numbers, these representatives drew up contracts. Instead of killing loose-lipped allies, they chose to strip them of property, finances, and everything else so the secret revealer could die humanely in the street. The politicians were happy because could spend time drawing up obtuse contracts rather than serving the people, and the janitors were happy, because the street was outside of their jurisdiction and they didn’t have to mop up the mess. It would be decades before the Street Sweepers Union mandated that the penniless be pushed into poorer neighborhoods so they could get back to cleaning “proper rubbish”.

As time went on, these contracts expanded beyond the realm of politics and into general business. Every worker knew jobs came with certain terms. In addition to signing their life over for bad pay and worse conditions, they would also need to sign a stack of non-disclosure agreements. Once more, it would take millennia before a union examined every line of these contracts for their workers, and then another ten years for technology companies to invent terms of service so long, that no one could actually read them.

            Clarence stared a stack of paperwork so large that his ancestors might have felt a change in gravity from its weight. His eyes glazed over the second he started reading. From word one, he knew he would not be reading the document in its entirety—no mortal could—but he also knew he needed to make a show of it.

Modern NDAs and terms of service were designed to be obtuse and uninterpretable except by those who had dedicated their entire lives to the process of interpreting said documents. AI, as it turned out, was also adept at parsing such documents, but Clarence had little faith that any of the programs were serving his best interest.

            Stephen sat across from him, fingers steepled and eyes fixed firmly on the document. Sweat dripped from his brow.

Clarence felt the heat in the room too but thought it was worth it for the presence of natural light. Still, it did lend the proceedings a slight stupor. Eventually, he gave up on the document, flipped through to the line with the small red X on it and signed. Whatever Praxis planned to do to him, it wouldn’t be worse than what happened on the street if he didn’t have a job. He clicked the pen closed and pushed the stack of papers across the table. “Alright, so are you going to tell me what I’m actually doing here?”

            Stephen took the papers, checked the signatures and smiled. “You’re here to train MARK.”

            Clarence spluttered. “Train it?”

            “Precisely! MARK’s adoption is widespread, that’s no secret. Which means, people that don’t use it are exceedingly rare.”

            Mark had to agree there. It was difficult to order so much as a cup of coffee without AI getting involved. Developers shoved it everywhere regardless of helpfulness. “Alright, so why would you want me to train it?”

            “MARK ‘fans’ aren’t giving the program proper feedback. It’s created a self-fulfilling loop where its answers are beginning to degrade over time.”

            Clarence snorted. “I knew it.”

            “They are still 99.3% accurate,” said Stephen, a little defensively. “But that’s down from 99.5% last year and the decline is accelerating.”

            Clarence often thought AI would be a race to the bottom, but never quite knew how. Sycophancy at the hands of its users somehow felt appropriate.

“We need someone who inherently distrusts MARK. Someone who will be willing to tell the AI when it’s wrong.”

“And what if MARK doesn’t like that?” Clarence had never seen outright hostility from the AI, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t capable.

Stephen waved a hand as if the question had been asked by an overcurious toddler. “MARK is programmed to do no harm.”

“Ok, so my job is to what? Talk to MARK all day?”

“In essence, yes. Correct it when it’s wrong. Your progress will be measured in MARK’s overall accuracy improvements. Our goal is to return it to a positive trajectory.”

            “At which point I’ll be out of a job?”

            Stephen smiled at that. “If you succeed in that task, you’ll have enough money that you’ll never need to work again.”

            That was enough to put some of Clarence’s doubts to rest. The idea of never walking through the doors of a shitty corporation again was certainly appealing. He thought back to all the online meetings where MARK had provided “helpful” summaries, the performance reviews summarized, everything that had made his life hell for the last ten years. “How much does it pay up until that point?”

            Stephen pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his jacket pocket. Apparently, even in the strangest job negotiations possible, there was still a certain level of decorum to be observed. He scribbled a number on the paper.

            Clarence’s heart skipped a beat at the amount of time it took him to write.

            “I know you’ll be upset, but this is a number generated by MARK. Say what you will, it’s good at that. What I have here is an offer with the statistically highest chance of your acceptance. As such, there will be no negotiations.” Stephen folded the piece of paper and slid it across the table.

            Clarence took it and read. First, he noticed the number of zeroes. Then he thought about breaking the lease on his apartment and moving somewhere where he might not get stabbed buying groceries. He tried his best not to splutter. “That will be sufficient.”

            “Do I take that as a yes?” Stephen beamed.

            Clarence looked up at the office around him. “You’re sure this is what MARK wants?” Clarence was used to garden variety hostile work environments but training an AI that didn’t want to be trained was a bit like voluntarily stepping into a crocodile den.

            “Oh, it was very specific after your last performance review.”

            Clarence thought back to the placid look on Higgins’s face when he allowed MARK to fire him. He chewed the inside of his lip. It all seemed too good to be true. “Alright. I accept.”

            “Splendid.”

Stephen stuck his hand out and Clarence shook it. “When do I start?”

“Are you doing anything for the rest of the day?”

“I guess working?”

Stephen pulled out the small box again and depressed the button. “Greg! He accepted. Bring in the office supplies.”

Clarence looked around the sparse office. “What sort of supplies?”

“MARK was very specific about the tools you needed to do your job correctly.”

Greg bustled in with a large trolley. On top was a computer, a monitor and all the usual accoutrements. He shoved it into the room and then returned for another, much larger item.

Clarence gulped as he wheeled in an industrial strength paper shredder.