I talk to machinery - sometimes it answers back

Why...

Do I give inanimate objects a personality? When Basil Fawlty from sitcom Fawlty Towers scolds his car and warns it if it does not start he would give it ‘a damn good thrashing’ then proceeds to attack it with a tree trunk, I can’t help but laugh. Not because of Fawlty but I believe the car didn’t start out of its own sheer bloody-mindedness. As a petrolhead, I have owned a wide variety of cars over the years. Some I used to talk to on long drives, discussing everything from sex to politics. Others I barely grunted at, certain they had a perverse desire to tip me into the nearest hedgerow and get a different owner. Only very few did I not communicate with at all. Those lasted the shortest time in my ownership. The attribution of emotion to inanimate objects might seem daft, but in fact it covers up a multitude of sins. Lawnmower won’t start? It’s because it’s pissed about being dirty; not the reality of you buying a duff brand. By giving ‘things’ a soul, you give them an ‘excuse’ for not always working for other reasons than just being not a good choice. It’s a backstop for my ego. “Darling, the oven switched off halfway through cooking the turkey, not because I set the timer wrong but because it didn’t like the oven cleaner you used last time. Christmas lunch will now be Christmas dinner.”

...and another thing

How many of you, dear readers, yell at the TV? I do it every time some lame news announcer mangles the English language (and if you watch Sky News that’s at least once an hour). But if you have voice activation it can cause havoc. Certainly, it will switch channels.

As for my computer screen, it is fluent in abuse in both English and French (my second language) and I am quite certain if I vent too much, the reason the screen suddenly goes blank is it’s teaching me manners rather than some electrical gremlin or virus in there that needs my tech team to exorcise.

...and another thing

In fact, the only thing I really do distrust is machinery you can talk to and it answers back. Smart speakers like Bixby, Alexa or Siri. I’m damn sure they give wrong answers not because I don’t enunciate properly or dictate clear instructions but just because they want to screw with me. And then they can just clam up and say nothing… even if you say pretty please.

My wife watched, while holding back laughter, once as I asked the cookie jar,

‘Hey Alexa, where might I have left my glasses?”

I read somewhere Alexa had a glitch that led it to giggling and laughing out loud unprompted. Sorry, but that would have freaked me out and the last question Alexa would have been asked was,

“How long does it take a smart speaker to drop twenty storeys onto the pavement.”

So tomorrow, I will politely greet the espresso machine in the vain hope my cup of Java won’t be too weak, tap the toaster on the shoulder inwardly praying my bagel won’t pop up like a charcoal washer, and say hi to the juicer so it does not decide to flip its lid and redecorate the ceiling with OJ.

Of course if any of those things happen… it ain’t my fault, darling. The machine did it. It was having a bad day.

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