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Companies’ increasing reliance on AI chatbots isn’t making the customer service experience smarter. It’s just making it more infuriating.

A few months ago, my fiancée and I splurged on a pair of ebikes . We live in an especially hilly area of Atlanta, which is an especially hilly city, and we’d both just gotten bonuses at work, making the nearly $2,000 per bike feel, for a moment, digestible.

We placed our orders online, and days later, my fiancée’s beautiful, feature-rich bike arrived at our door. Mine, bought separately from a different retailer, was delayed, then delayed again, and again.

Finally, one Wednesday evening, I got a text from FedEx confirming that my bike had been delivered to our address and signed for. This seemed impossible, considering that when the text arrived, I was standing in my kitchen, bicycle-less, air-frying a batch of chicken thighs.

I checked outside our apartment; my package wasn’t there. So, I checked my order confirmation, only to learn the bike had been signed for by someone with the mysterious initials “M.M.,” which don’t match those of myself, my fiancée, or anyone in our building. Whether it was stolen, misplaced, or delivered to the wrong address didn’t matter as much as finding a solution. I set out to do that the following day by calling FedEx's customer service line for help.

What followed was a monthslong descent into the bowels of customer service hell, during which I spent hours in virtual, chatbot -governed waiting rooms—with FedEx, the bicycle company, my bank, my credit card company, and even my local police department—desperately trying to find a real, living person who would speak to me, let alone solve my $2,000 problem.

Perhaps the strangest thing about my situation is how incredibly normal it has become. In recent years, corporations have employed artificial intelligence with a particular verve in their customer service arms, often at the cost of human employees.