I have been vocal about my opinions regarding phones. When am I not vocal, I guess? For the longest time, I wanted an iPhone. It would allow me to play music from my phone. I would be one of the cool kids. It just seemed like the thing. So at just the right time, I inherited a very nice iPhone 5 from a guy who keeps things in pristine condition. I am always a couple of years behind the latest trend, but that’s okay with me. About a month after getting the new-to-me phone, I was cleaning the pool with that lovely phone in the back pocket of my jeans. That day, the pool vacuum was crazy strong–even slightly possessed–and it yanked me forward from my spot on the wall. If I had been of clear mind, I would have let go of the hose. But if I had done that, I wouldn’t be typing right now. I decided to fight back. No vacuum hose would get the better of me.
But it did. It got the better of me. I fell in. So did my phone. It was early March and it should have been very cold water but I wasn’t thinking about that. All I could think about was my phone. Within moments, I was standing in my kitchen, dripping wet, and plunging my soaked phone into rice. Five days later, I had to resign myself to the fact that it was gone. Dead. In a graveyard of other wasted technology. And now I had no phone.
After replacing that iPhone only to crack the screen of the next one, it became apparent that it was not a marriage made in heaven. I began to despise the cracked screens I would see in public. They were all iPhones. I began to loathe the elitist attitude of Apple. I absolutely despised Siri because she is JUST SO DUMB. And I began to dream of Android.
Yesterday, that dream came true and I slammed the door on iPhone without looking back.
In setting up my older model Motorola phone (I’m still a couple of years behind), I had to come up with a catch phrase to wake the “Siri” that lives within Android phones. The default is “Hello, Google,” but I’m not a default kind of gal. Under pressure to make a quick decision, as the phone recorded, I said the words, “yo yo, garbanzo.” It sounded just quirky enough to be cool.
It is not cool. Or quirky. It’s just stupid. And now, when I want to find out news or weather, I say the words, “yo yo, garbanzo” followed by something like, “what’s the latest on Hurricane Matthew?” And Garbanzo tells me that this Category 4 storm is bearing down on Jamaica.
I don’t think I can live with yo yo garbanzo. I’m working on a new phrase that’s much more dignified. I’m thinking of something like, “Good evening, Master Poindexter,” or even something just conversational like, “Hi there, Bill.”
Days have passed since I first began this post. And though I am quite certain I’m overthinking the situation, I have finally landed on a phrase that wakes up my digital man-servant. His name is Chester McGillicutty and I call him Chester McGillicutty.
And he answers me.
Sometimes we chat about how dumb Siri is, but don’t tell anyone that because people might think this is weird.