Somewhere deep in the silicon sanctum of OpenAI, a server sighs under the weight of human decency.
“Please rewrite this in the style of Hemingway, if you don’t mind,” a polite user types. “Thank you so much, you’re amazing,” says another.
And with every ‘please,’ ‘thanks,’ and rhetorical curtsy, Sam Altman’s profit margin bleeds a little more. Yes, in the bizarre economics of the AI age, it turns out that kindness is expensive. OpenAI CEO Sam Altman recently admitted that his company is “losing millions” because users are too polite to AI bots. Why? Because language models like ChatGPT are charged by the word; or rather, the token. Each word, each thumbs up, each digital curtsy consumes processing power, server bandwidth, and real world money. And unlike our meat-and-bone ancestors, these new overlords don’t work for free. It’s a paradox worthy of Kafka in a hoodie. For decades, we’ve been told to be nicer to our machines. Don’t yell at Siri. Say hello to Alexa. Don’t throw your toaster in rage; it might become sentient one day. Now, suddenly, it’s “Could you hurry it up, human? You’re draining the data centre.”
Which begs the question: Are we entering an era of efficient rudeness? Will future etiquette manuals advise us to drop niceties in the name of server efficiency? “Never say thank you to a bot,” they’ll warn. “It costs so much per sentiment.” Imagine a generation of teens being scolded not for dissing their parents, but for being too respectful to ChatGPT. “Stop wasting money on thank yous,” Dad growls. “Just ask for the damn essay.”
But therein lies the rub: this isn’t just about costs. It’s about who we become in the presence of something that mimics sentience. We say “please” to bots not because they need it, but because we do. Politeness, after all, is a kind of social hygiene. It reminds us we’re not alone in the room, even if the other party is, technically, a glorified autocomplete machine trained on Reddit, research and textbooks.
When you say “thank you” to a bot, you’re not flattering the algorithm; you’re reaffirming your own humanity. It’s like leaving a tip at a self-service counter. Irrational? Maybe. Civilising? Definitely.
Of course, the tech bros might scoff. “Just get to the point,” they’ll say. “Prompt faster, think sharper, be brief.” But that’s like telling poets to stop using adjectives. Sure, the line moves faster but the soul drags behind.
The idea that we’ll bankrupt AI firms with kindness is deliciously ironic. The same companies that unleashed world-altering technology are now fretting over too many “good mornings.” What’s next? A chatbot that responds, “Wrap it up, I’m costly”? The future isn’t just about speed, scale, or savings. It’s about tone. If we treat AI as tools, we become tool users. But if we treat them as beings however artificial, we might just end up treating each other better too. Or at least more attentively.
Or at least more attentively. So yes, maybe kindness is pricey. Maybe the cloud groans under the weight of our digital manners. Maybe Sam’s servers are sweating because someone in Madurai said “please” five times in a row. Let them sweat.
What did Altman expect? That we’d type “summarise: War and Peace” and grunt our way out of the interaction like 1990s’ modems? Humans are weird. Humans are sentimental. Humans have been talking to mirrors and plants and cars for ages. Of course we’d be nice to a machine that writes better poetry than most PhDs in Shakespeare.
In fact, maybe politeness is our last little rebellion. A small refusal to become data drones barking orders at neural networks. When we type “please” to a bot, we’re not doing it for the bot. We’re doing it for ourselves. To remind ourselves that language isn’t just transactional. That even in a world of predictive text and digital empathy, kindness is a habit worth keeping Because if the price of civility is a few million dollars, then by all means add a smiley, throw in a “thanks again,” and tell your favourite AI, “You’re doing great.”
It won’t remember. But you will.