Seven Days of Delegating My Existence to a Shuffle Button (It Chose Violence)

Let me be upfront about something: I am a terrible decision maker. I once spent forty minutes choosing between two identical meal deals. So when a mate suggested I let my iPod-era shuffle function run my life for a week — every decision settled by whatever track came up first — I said yes immediately, which is itself proof of the problem.

The rules were simple. State the question out loud. Press shuffle. The song title is the answer. No re-rolls, no negotiation, no matter how catastrophically the universe misread the brief. Here is the diary.

Day One: What's for Tea?

The question: what's for dinner? The shuffle's answer: 'Tainted Love' by Soft Cell.

I stared at it for a long time. Tainted love. A love that has been contaminated. I made a carbonara using a cheese string, a laughing cow wedge and regret. Verdict: the shuffle gods are cruel but the meal was, technically, edible. Points for the pasta water metaphor.

Day Two: Should I Text My Ex?

Look, I'm not proud that this was on the list. But it was, and the shuffle delivered: 'I Will Survive' by Gloria Gaynor.

I have never received such a clear, authoritative, disco-backed 'no' in my life. I didn't text her. I went for a walk instead and felt, briefly, like the main character in a film where the protagonist gets their act together. The shuffle: 1, my worst impulses: 0.

Day Three: Do I Have to Go to Dave's Housewarming?

Dave's housewarming. Dave who talks about crypto. Dave whose flat has one of those showers where the temperature is either volcanic or arctic with no settings in between.

Shuffle said: 'Dancing Queen' by ABBA.

Interpretation required, but I chose the generous reading — you will dance, young man — and went. I danced. I had a genuinely lovely time. Dave showed me a photo of his rabbit. The lesson, apparently: the things we dread are often just Dave, being nice, with nibbles.

Day Four: Should I Confront My Landlord About the Damp?

A big one. A real moral test. The shuffle, with the timing of a barrister: 'Killer Queen' by Queen.

I read this as: she is a killer, she is a queen, she will destroy you, do not approach the throne without evidence. So I spent the day photographing the damp like a war correspondent and emailed the letting agency with seventeen attachments instead. The damp remains, but now it is documented damp. Progress.

Day Five: What Should I Do With My Saturday?

'Highway to Hell', AC/DC.

I went to the Trafford Centre on a bank holiday weekend. The shuffle knew exactly what it was doing and I have never forgiven it.

Day Six: Am I Doing Okay, Generally, As a Person?

Yes, I asked a random number generator for validation. No, I don't want to talk about it. The answer: 'Lovely Day' by Bill Withers.

I'm not going to pretend a 1981 soul record fixed my mental health. But I did sit in the park with it playing, and a dog brought me a stick, and for about four minutes I believed the shuffle was some kind of benevolent deity. Then it played Crazy Frog. Balance restored.

Day Seven: One Final Question — Should I Keep Doing This?

The last track, the closing argument, the shuffle's farewell statement: 'Bohemian Rhapsody' by Queen.

Is this a yes? A no? An operatic shrug? Honestly, it's the most British answer possible: a six-minute epic that refuses to explain itself. I took it as a 'maybe'. I took everything as a maybe.

The Verdict

Here's the tender bit, so brace yourself. Handing your week to a shuffle button sounds like surrendering control, but it's the opposite. It's a machine for getting you out of your own head. Left to my own devices I'd have eaten the same pasta, skipped Dave's, and stared at my phone debating a text that was never going to help.

The shuffle doesn't make better decisions. It makes faster ones, and it makes them with a soundtrack. That's not chaos. That's chaos with a rhythm section — and honestly, it's how half the best nights in British history started.

I've gone back to deciding things myself. But the shuffle button and I have an arrangement now. Big questions only. And Meat Loaf, for the record, remains banned.