Humane Service in a Screen‑Driven World

A recent government move has stirred debate about customer service norms, aiming to curb robot-based responses in favor of human interaction. The ruling outlines limits on automated answering systems and makes clear that clients can demand human attention at any moment during a call. The shift has created headlines for how daily life interweaves with technology, prompting reflections on the role of machines in public services. On some days, the writer finds themselves drawn to speaking with machines when operators are together, a situation that has become surprisingly common. In recent weeks, the financial institution Unicaja appears to have spent substantial overtime on staff meetings, where executives remain in loops that struggle to resolve customer needs. Yet there is still the possibility to press a key, provide a DNI, acknowledge a fact, and endure the familiar eighties pub playlist while the office tries to align everyone with the same message. The decision makers persist in lengthy sessions, balancing the pressure of service with the desire for efficiency. For some, farm robots offer a more predictable, capable presence on hold or at the point of contact, clearly understanding the tasks needed in a service environment. Banks, at times, push clients toward steps that feel rote and impersonal, returning them to the starting point when a previous action did not fit their plan. Treasury services, by contrast, prompt users to search for the right option, repeatedly entering data about accounts, cards, and registrations. In this imagined landscape, robots work in gleaming rooms, sharing a wry smile as callers who rush through prompts collide with automated menus. Their metallic voices joke about the outcome while the human on the line waits for a suitable moment to confirm a request. When the user selects city, office, zip code, and a preferred day and time to report an issue, the robot responds with a restrained sigh and proceeds to the next step. For instance, a nine o clock appointment in Teruel or Albacete is confirmed with a calm, almost sardonic, reply that hints at the machine’s own form of humor. These scenes underline a growing tension between aspiration and reality in public service delivery. If the government succeeds in removing unreality from the experience and pushes all interactions to localities that feel immediate and real, the author wonders what kind of writing will emerge. Will the stories shift toward darker portrayals of nocturnal offices or toward parallel lives in business districts, where a quiet love might bloom behind a desk in a dimly lit tax office? The author suggests that removing robots from daily life would lessen the sense of wonder that comes from imagining travel to places like Albacete and the idea of freeing the rulers. The imagined journey remains a source of joy, especially when paired with the buzz of eighties bar music that once felt like a private joke. Machines may provide the means, but not the human warmth at the core of service. Those who treat customers with disdain are imagined as being made of metal, not flesh, and this contrast becomes a lens for contemplating a more humane approach. Instead of fearing a fully robotic world, the reader is invited to entertain a sci fi vision that keeps a human heartbeat at the center of every exchange. The piece ultimately invites a pause for reflection on how public services should balance automation with empathy, ensuring that technology serves people rather than replacing them entirely. The writer closes with a preference for staying connected to the human element in daily transactions, allowing genuine conversations to shape the experience rather than a sequence of scripted keystrokes. In the end, the hope is for a future where the joy of imagination remains intact, even as machines take on more of the routine tasks that once defined the rhythm of public life.