I'll Instantly Know You Used Chat GPT If I See This

When my lecturer handed out our latest university assignment, the room was unusually tense. He gave us three days to complete it, which already felt like a cruel joke considering how overloaded everyone was. But the real tension came when he leaned on his desk, smirked, and delivered the line that has since echoed in my head:

“I know all your tricks. Don’t copy from each other, don’t plagiarize, and definitely don’t use ChatGPT or any other AI tool. If you do, I’ll know instantly.”

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. With the kind of confidence that made you believe he really would know. He wasn’t one of those professors who had no clue how TikTok works or thought “cloud storage” was literally a cloud in the sky. No, this guy was in his early thirties, sharp, and annoyingly tech-savvy. He’d been a student not too long ago himself, and he seemed almost excited to catch us slipping.

For reasons I can’t fully explain, I believed him. Maybe it was the way he narrowed his eyes, maybe it was the smug little grin, but something in me said: Don’t risk it. He will catch you.

So, against every lazy bone in my body, I decided to write the assignment the hard way. Old school. Research, drafts, late nights, caffeine, and the slow crawl of typing words that don’t want to appear on a blank screen. It wasn’t fun, but it felt…safe.

My friend, however, thought otherwise.

The “Master Plan”

You know that one friend who always believes they’re the smartest person in the room, even when they’re clearly not? That’s him. While I was slowly typing away and drowning in academic sources, he came up with what he proudly declared was a “foolproof plan.”

“Look,” he whispered in class like we were planning a bank heist, “I’m just going to ask ChatGPT to write the essay for me. And then—here’s the genius part—I’ll tell it to make it sound more human. That way, it won’t sound like AI.”

He leaned back like he had just split the atom.

I stared at him for a good five seconds, waiting for the actual plan, but nope—that was it. That was his entire strategy. Ask ChatGPT to not be ChatGPT.

Cue the Tony Stark eye-roll GIF.

Why This Was Peak Dumbassery

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love technology. AI is powerful, and when used responsibly, it’s brilliant. But my friend’s idea was…well, let’s just say two decades on earth and the best plan he could hatch was essentially: Hey, tool, stop being yourself.

It was like asking a calculator to give you an answer but “make it less math-y.” Or asking Spotify to play music but “make it less song-y.”

Even if ChatGPT rephrased the text to sound more natural, the lecturer wasn’t stupid. Professors nowadays run papers through plagiarism detectors, AI-detection software, and—let’s be honest—their own instincts. When you’ve read thousands of essays, you can smell when something feels “off.”

The Lecturer’s Advantage

Here’s the thing about teachers and lecturers—they’re not just reading for content. They’re reading for voice.

They know how their students write. They see your grammar quirks, your vocabulary range, your sentence rhythm. They know whether you’re the kind of person who uses words like “juxtaposition” or if you’re more of a “but on the other hand” type of writer.

When you suddenly hand in an essay that reads like Shakespeare fused with Google Scholar, they notice. It sticks out like a sore thumb.

That’s what my friend didn’t get. He thought technology was the problem, but the real giveaway is inconsistency. A lecturer who’s been reading your sloppy, rushed submissions all semester isn’t going to suddenly believe you woke up and started writing like an Ivy League professor.

My Safe but Painful Route

Meanwhile, I stuck to my human-made essay. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t life-changing. But it was mine. Full of my usual half-baked metaphors, slightly clumsy transitions, and the occasional sarcastic remark that I hoped wouldn’t cost me marks.

When the deadline came, I handed it in with shaky confidence but at least no fear. My friend, on the other hand, strutted into class like he had just outsmarted the system.

The Aftermath

I don’t need to tell you how this ended—you already know.

Assignments were returned the following week. I got a decent grade (not perfect, but solid). My friend, however, had a fat red mark across the top of his paper.

“Suspected AI-generated. Rewrite required.”

The look on his face was priceless. His so-called master plan had failed spectacularly, and our lecturer hadn’t even needed advanced tools to sniff it out. He just knew.

The Lesson

What I took away from this wasn’t that AI is evil or useless—it’s that trying to cheat your way through life rarely pays off. Shortcuts look appealing, but they often land you in deeper trouble than the original work would have caused.

Sure, AI can help. It can brainstorm ideas, summarize research, or even polish grammar. But at the end of the day, the work still needs to carry your voice. That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes it authentic. And that’s what makes it safe.

So next time you think about telling ChatGPT to “sound more human,” remember my friend’s story. Trust me—you’re not as slick as you think.