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Worried about some hotshot AI chatbot taking your job?

If you're not, you must have a pretty miserable job. With all the white-collar, pink-collar, and no-collar gigs being snapped up left and right by AI, it's difficult to imagine a position so awful that Claude or Gemini or Muse would turn up their nose at the opportunity to step over you and step in.

If you are worried, you're not alone.

I'm worried, for one, and so is Annie Lowrey, for another.

Lowrey is a writer for The Atlantic and the author of "How to Guess If Your Job Will Exist in Five Years." It's Lowrey's opinion that the question we must ask ourselves is "Am I coal or am I a horse?" (I'll give you a moment to think about it. Here's a hint -- count your legs.)

The reasoning behind the question concerns how you face change. For horses, at the start of the 20th century, technological change was represented by the tractor. "When the combine rolled onto the alfalfa field, horses did not see the writing on the barn wall and start applying for factory jobs," Lowrey writes. "They didn't learn to code or attend community college. They stood there and ate carrots."

This emphasis on carrots, rather than coding, cost a lot of horses a lot of jobs.

Things work out better if you decide you are coal.

During the same time period, coal was also threatened with an intimidating technology, steam power, but the new tech "would drive down the price of consumer goods, push up corporate profits and lead to the demand of coal increasing, not decreasing."

In the same paradoxical way, there has been an actual increase in the employment numbers for coal-adjacent coders as "corporate executives are desperate for workers to figure out how to develop or implement AI products."

So far so good.

But nothing stays the same for long in business, right? This brings us back to the question -- will your job exist in five years? If you're a horse, probably not. If you are coal, however, the future is not so clear. While our current president seems to be on a one-man campaign to keep coal at full employment, it's unlikely that he will do the same for you.

Given this harsh reality, it makes sense to calibrate when you will be put out to pasture. Here are the clues that say "Yes!" to the question --

Will My Job Exist in ...

Five Years?

Management is all-in on AI. Weird wispy characters roam the halls, installing new software and inquiring, ever so gently, what exactly it is you do. The result, as you can expect, is a complete breakdown in efficiency and a series of new strategic, high-value initiatives to correct the problems of the previous, high-value initiatives, all of which will ensure your job is secure for five years, at least, maybe ten.

Four Years?

Opening the door of a conference room on Executive Row, you discover 25 monkeys with laptops. The monkeys are working intensely when not pelting each other with bananas. The head of IT sits in the corner. "Don't disturb them," he says. "They're making progress."

Three Years?

The CEO announces that your office location will be transformed into a data center. The company's previous plan for a data center in Antarctica has been canceled due to residential opposition from a colony of Luddite penguins and the difficulty of finding a really, really long extension cord.

Two Years?

All employees are encouraged to work remotely. Results of AI research prove improved efficiency when human beings are not distracted by the presence of other human beings who are unfocused, unreliable and eat lunch.

One Year?

Based on your annual 360-degree job review, you have been placed on a Performance Improvement Plan. While the 1-degree response from your human coworkers was positive, you received negative feedback from the 359-degree responses written by the company's AI system.

One Month?

The company announces it will no longer be using AI in any of its departments. "People are important to us," the CEO says. "Sure, it may cost us a little more, but it's important to be true to ourselves and promote our shared humanity."

One Hour?

When you arrive at work, the computer at reception no longer recognizes your name. Security is called and Tasers are drawn. You are escorted out of the building by an Optimus robot who runs on coal.

One Minute?

There's a knock on your office door.

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Bob Goldman was an advertising executive at a Fortune 500 company. He offers a virtual shoulder to cry on at info@creators.com. To find out more about Bob Goldman and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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