Can you teach an old boomer lawyer new tricks? I am a septuagenarian who is uncomfortable adapting to technology. I thought we had it all with the invention of the sticky note.

At a supermarket or box retailer, I never use self-checkout, as not only do I prefer the banter with a live cashier but that voice from the machine saying, “Place the item on the tray” spooks me. It sounds like the police ordering me at gunpoint to “drop it.”

I actually retired from my law practice a few years ago when email communication became the norm, and everybody expected an instant reply 24/7. Which gets me to artificial intelligence.

All I know or care to know about AI is that my kids and grandchildren swear by it, using it for answers from business to personal questions on where to find a great Mediterranean restaurant to opinions on whether the Maple Leafs will advance to the Stanley Cup finals this season. They recently ganged up on me insisting AI can be a lifetime game-changer. Reluctantly, I allowed them to install the app on my iPad (which they actually bought for me as a birthday gift).

Although I am no longer in practice, I decided to give AI a try as if I was still actively in the trenches where I spent over 40 years slugging it out doing criminal and civil litigation in the Toronto area. After all, I am open-minded. But firstly, I decided to test it.

From what I hear, it can render wrong answers, referred to as “hallucinations.” We often enough read about lawyers getting called out by judges for citing fictitious legal precedent cases generated by AI. I downloaded the “free” version. My experience went something like this: I asked a simple no-brainer test question: “What is the capital of France?”

Hey, being a lawyer, I adapt to changes with caution.

I got an instant answer: “The capital of France is Paris.”

Suddenly, I regretted asking that question. It occurred to me that AI registers all queries, and now, I am likely on record for not knowing the capital of France and looking like a dimwit.

I almost expected the thing to note as the title of the chat something like, “Lawyer does not know what every second grader knows.”

I tried to correct the situation, typing in, “I already knew the answer to that question. I’m not an ignoramus.”

The creature replied, “Got you. Any other questions on this topic? Would you like me to give you a list of good restaurants near the Eiffel Tower?”

I did not want to go down a slippery slope.

I decided to redeem myself and show it my quest for knowledge had greater depth, and so I asked: What is the Miranda case about? Although Miranda is not binding in Canada, I thought I would demonstrate my vast knowledge of American criminal law dealing with rights that police must read to people upon arrest. Hey, that France question still bothered me. (I will digress slightly. I actually liked the name “Miranda,” as Madame Miranda was my favorite grade school teacher. Little-known fact.)

The bot replied to my Miranda query noting the principles of this iconic decision. It offered to answer further questions about Miranda, but I passed.

I then decided to go for broke and see how intelligent AI actually is. I keyed in, “What is the meaning of life?” To my surprise, I actually got another quickie answer. The robot said, “That’s one of the biggest questions humans have ever asked.”

I did not need AI to tell me that.

It did suggest I check out Aristotle, who found meaning in reason and moral duty, and Sartre, who argued that life has no meaning. I did not find this answer to be a game changer.

But a pattern I noticed was that an AI session seems endless, giving an answer and then always inviting more questions. I almost expected it to ask me, “Do you want a list of restaurants frequented by Jean Paul Sartre?”

I thought I would ask one more legal query: “Does law school prepare students adequately for the real world?”

I got a surprise reply. It said something like, “You are timed out for today on this free version. Try again at 3:27 a.m. We suggest you upgrade to Plus to get more comprehensive service.”

Hmmm. I had enough. I concluded I gave AI a reasonable shot.

I reported my journey on AI to my kids and grandchildren, advising them that it was not overly helpful. Given my first query about Paris, it probably has me registered on a list of blockheads. And it certainly was not helpful regarding my meaning-of-life query. I don’t intend to dive deeper to see what Aristotle or Sartre have to say. Nor do I care where either of these gentlemen enjoyed going for dinner near the opera.

I also let my Generation X, millennial and Generation Z offspring know that if they wanted to get me a birthday present, they can’t go wrong surprising me with a box of pencils.

Though I will say I am tempted to ask it one more question, but I have the feeling it will reply, “Tell me exactly what more you want to know about Madame Miranda.”

Marcel Strigberger, after 40-plus years of practicing civil litigation in the Toronto area, closed his law office and decided to continue his humor writing and speaking passions. His latest book is First, Let’s Kill the Lawyer Jokes: An Attorney’s Irreverent Serious Look at the Legal Universe. Visit MarcelsHumour.com, and follow him at @MarcelsHumour on X, formerly known as Twitter.