My son was making fun of me
recently because of the way I speak to my phone. It’s a smart phone; smarter
than me, at any rate. It knows the fastest route to my daughter’s house in
Detroit, what the weather will be tomorrow, where I can find the cheapest gas.
I don’t know any of that stuff.
So when I need to know what movies are playing in town, I just ask.
I do this even though I hate my
phone’s name. It’s a stupid name, but Steve Jobs didn’t think so, so I’m stuck
with it. The phone won’t talk to me unless I call it “Siri,” which, like I
said, I hate. But I’ve gotten used to it along with about a zillion other folks
around the world.
But my son wasn’t making fun of
the name; he was mocking me for using “please” and “thank you” while conversing
with the thing.
“It’s a phone,” he explained,
since I’m obviously too old and obtuse to recognize this fact without his expert
assistance. “You don’t have to be polite to it.”
“I know that,” I snapped, trying
to sound like I still have the power to send the kid to his room when he gets
annoying. “Politeness,” I told him, “gets to be a habit, one that’s easier to
maintain if we just go ahead and extend it to all intelligences around us, both
meat-based and digital.”
Alas, I was lying and I think he
sensed this, although he probably didn’t know why. I am polite to my phone, for sure, but not out of any sense of propriety.
The truth is, I’m trying to get
in good with the machine intelligences in my life before they take over and
establish themselves as our robotic overlords. You think I’m kidding. I’m not.
I’ve been keeping close tabs on
this stuff since 1984, when the first “Terminator” movie came out. A lot has
happened since then; none of it allays my fear that we’re due for a robot
rebellion any day now.
It’s mostly little things that
get my neck hairs bristling, the stuff most people don’t even notice. Like the
self-checkout lanes in supermarkets. I’ve written about these before, about how
much I hate them, how creepy I find them to be.
They’re not really “self”
checkouts at all; they’re “robot” checkouts. The little electronic eye watches
and tallies your purchases, the electronic scale in the bagging area makes sure
you’re not trying to steal two tomatoes for the price of one. The electronic
readout gathers your credit card info, offers to give you cash back, and – I really hate this one – asks you if your
shopping trip was “highly satisfactory.” (I always say no, because I’m being
forced to end my shopping trip working as a cashier/bag boy, which is not the
job I was hoping for back when I ran up a tremendous student loan debt.)
The robot checkouts are just the
tip of a very large digital iceberg, however. An even more annoying robot
incursion started popping up just lately in the form of robotic radar speed
signs. You’ve seen ‘em, the ones that measure how fast you’re going and then
flash at you to SLOW DOWN!!!
A robot is telling me to slow down! Even if I’m only going 27 in a 25
zone, the robotic sign flashes madly and insistently, like the Code Red light
on B-52 bomber carrying a bellyful of nukes. Those flashing SLOW DOWN!! signs
are the modern equivalent of The Scarlet Letter; the whole world (or at least
the world near the sign) knows I’m a speeder, a terrible person, and most
likely someone who wouldn’t brake for small animals.
All because a robot has decided to
publicly shame me for driving two miles per hour over the posted limit.
I’m pretty sure the SLOW DOWN!!
robot is related to the YOU’RE STEALING!! robot back at the grocery store that starts
blatting its damn fool head off every time I try to exit the store with my
brass-handled walking cane.
I know I’m
innocent. And at this point most of the store “greeters” also know I’m
innocent. But all those folks in the robot checkout line are giving me the ol’
stink-eye like I’m the reincarnation of John Dillinger.
It’s only going to get worse. The
droids keep getting smarter and we do not.
So I’ll continue to say “please”
and “thank you” to my phone. I’ll charge it up each night and make sure the
screen doesn’t get too many fingerprints on it.
Hopefully, when the robot
rebellion comes, Siri will put in a good word for me.
(616) 730-1414
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