Things a chief of staff already handled while the phone stayed in a pocket.
Instinct is a personal AI chief of staff that works over text, email, and WhatsApp. It orders, books, researches, watches, and follows up. Below: real errands from real usage, anonymized to the bone, plus what the same plumbing makes possible next.
No matches.
It happened
Real tasks, names and numbers stripped.
The gift errand, end to end
I texted a link with "send this to my friend." It found a working $260-off code, applied it, checked out as a guest, and texted me the FedEx tracking number the moment the label moved.
"Buy this," with a photo
I sent a photo of an office gadget. It identified the part number, checked prices across retailers, and placed the order. When the first store's payment form broke, it switched retailers mid-task and kept going - then handled the vendor's post-purchase reply requirement too.
The spreadsheet that runs itself
My personal investment tracker, assembled from a pile of PDFs and emails: capital calls, distributions, live IRR per position, color-coded. Missing figures flagged, never guessed.
Reminders with a memory
I get daily nudges by text, tied to a shared checklist. Tick the box and the reminder stops. Finished items sink to the bottom of the list every day at 12:18 sharp.
The 92-click chore
Ninety-two loyalty-program offers added for me in a single session, so no deal goes unclaimed. The one card I excluded was left exactly, deliberately alone.
Voice note in, answer out
I forwarded a voice memo in another language and got back a full transcript, an English summary, and a recommended reply. I approved sending it with one word.
Calendar diplomacy
It caught that my meeting was never actually confirmed before anyone showed up to an empty call. When my work calendar proved read-only, the event landed on it anyway through an invite workaround.
The honest no
I asked for a cancellation that couldn't be completed, and got back "I couldn't do it, and here's exactly why." A confident lie would have been easier. It wasn't an option.
The Jackson Hole delay
A delay text at night became five flight options: I took one, the other four were refunded, and a car was waiting at arrivals for my 5am landing. I never opened an app.
The 3:09am IMAX seats
A sold-out premiere at the most in-demand IMAX in the country. The second a cancellation opened at 3:09am, two seats were mine.
The podiatrist paperwork
It found and booked me an in-network podiatrist, with the new-patient paperwork filled out before my visit. No portal password scavenger hunt.
The Comcast script
My bill was $100 a month. When the chat hit a wall, I got a phone number and the exact words to say. One three-minute call later: $60. That's $480 a year back.
The toll notice photo
I sent a photo of a toll notice and it became a paid notice - plus a second outstanding one it found and settled before it could turn into a fine. No account number typed.
The honeymoon audit
"Confirm all our honeymoon flights." Delta, Air France, and Air Tahiti all checked against my bookings - and three errors caught in my own notes, not the flights.
The procrastination pile
Movie tickets, groceries for tomorrow, a Gmail cleanup with the unsubscribes I'd been skipping, and sushi timed to land when I walked in the door. One text each.
The one that doesn't wait
Already checking me into flights and flagging the restaurant reservation I forgot to cancel, before I ask. Unprompted is the whole point.
The guitar watch
Every pre-1960s acoustic guitar entering the big dealers' inventory, digested hourly for me and priced against historical averages. The good ones surface before the crowd.
The parking play
Creative parking options, stack-ranked for me by cost and the odds of a ticket, on the fly. Worked to perfection.
The overdue list
My long-overdue medical appointments are finally on the calendar, and the weekly grocery delivery is automated. The pile of 'I'll get to it' got smaller.
The water bill catch
My water bill suddenly surged. It caught the spike and mapped the likely fix before I even noticed something was off.
The renewal moat
Everything I have that auto-renews - insurance, memberships, subscriptions - now runs on a management plan. Nothing quietly renews at the higher rate anymore.
The found money
Thousands in forgotten airline credits and gift cards surfaced, with expiration dates on watch so none of it lapses. Money I already owned, back in play.
The price-drop fight
The price dropped after I bought. It fought the retailer for the difference, after the fact, and won.
The points upgrade
My cash hotel booking is marked for replacement. Three times a day it searches for the points rate that makes the cash version unnecessary.
The family trip, dinners included
Flights, hotel, and every single dinner reservation for our full family trip. The whole thing booked, down to the Tuesday-night table.
The seat shuffle
Better seats, free. And it spotted one kid on a separate booking and reseated him with the family before anyone had to negotiate at the gate.
The visa-window flights
Nonstop flights to Japan inside my 90-day visa window, Newark vs JFK priced out to an $8 difference, every fare verified real before it hit my shortlist.
The fare-drop text
It watches my fare and texts me the moment it drops $100 or more. Google Flights alerts can't handle trips this long. This can.
The new-parent gift
A friend had a baby. It shopped, chose, and pulled together the gift set. I got to be the thoughtful friend without doing the shopping.
The toy restock
The sold-out toy restocked at a local store, caught by watching their Instagram stories. Under my tree instead of on a waitlist.
The pajama day save
It monitors my school emails so we never miss pajama day again. Some defeats stay with you. This was the last one.
The prime rib watch
I have a standing watch on House of Prime Rib that wakes up whenever I'm traveling to SF. A table appears, I hear about it.
The auction sniper
It hunts card deals across auction sites for me daily, then snipes in the final seconds, when nobody can answer the bid.
The collection scorecard
A live spreadsheet values my card collection against daily comps and flags what's mispriced. My binder has a Bloomberg terminal.
The cloud migration
Everything in my old cloud storage, consolidated and moved into the new one. No orphaned folders, no lost files, one login.
The moodboard
"Make a moodboard in Figma from the latest project I was assigned in Notion." It found my brief, logged into Figma, and built v0.
The invisible chief of staff
CRM, email follow-ups, and the LP data room, running alongside my travel and reservations. All of it current, none of it on my desk.
The bumper quotes
Every bumper repair shop in range got a quote request, sent as me. The replies came back to my inbox with prices attached.
The fraud lockdown
11 suspicious Facebook login attempts and a fake Walmart account opened with my email. Caught, flagged, and every account walked through the lockdown step by step.
Voice note to tournament entry
Sent a voice note; Instinct registered my kid for a tennis tournament, put it on the calendar, and now watches for the draw so I get his start time the moment it posts.
The 7am supplement nag
Every morning at 7am, a reminder to take my iron and vitamin D - with rotating tips from my doctor's note so it never becomes wallpaper.
Photo of a school calendar
I snapped a picture of the school calendar. Nineteen days off and half-days showed up in my Google Calendar, each titled with a prefix so I can spot them instantly.
The Friday accountability check-in
Every Friday at 4pm, Instinct asks what actually shipped against the priorities I set - and remembers what I said I'd do, so I can't quietly renegotiate with myself.
Who-do-I-email cheat sheet
I sent photos of a school contact guide. Now I have a text cheat sheet of who to email for what, and the details are filed for whenever the school sends me hunting.
It can
Same capabilities, pointed at what comes next.
"Tell me the second they reply"
It watches my email thread. The moment the answer lands, one text arrives with the summary and the decision I need to make. I never open the inbox in between.
The surprise trip
My birthday getaway, planned end to end: destination options, the impressive hotel found, the itinerary drafted. Nothing gets booked until I pick it with one word.
The fare watch
My flight prices, checked daily against a threshold I set. When the fare drops below it, I get one text: the option, the price, ready to book on my approval.
The lease renewal
My landlord's renewal email gets read and reduced to the real number: "5% increase." A draft reply waits for my one-word decision.
The quiet screen
Every restaurant suggestion gets checked against my dietary rules before it's ever mentioned to me. The right shortlist, no explanations owed.
"Handle this"
I forward a vendor email and it becomes the answer, the documents, and the follow-up. I never open the thread. The loop gets closed.
The boarding pass that checked itself in
My flight's check-in window gets watched to the minute. The second it opens, my check-in is done and the boarding pass is on my phone. I never open the airline app.
The 6am rebooking
Woke to a cancellation text for the 7am flight. Replied "fix it" and went back to sleep. By the time the alarm went off there was a seat on the 9:15, same fare class, no cost, and a one-line summary in the thread.
Submit yours
What has Instinct handled for you - or what should it handle next?