My wife accidentally dialed her friend Susan a few months ago.
Susan texted back later: “Sorry I missed ur call. Did you need something?”
“No. It was just a booty call.”
…..Susan has been a little scarce this summer. So I had to tactfully explain to my wife the rather substantial difference between a “butt dial” and a “booty call.” Yes, I’m 51.
My wife has a history of bringing technology to its knees. Living in the netherworld between old and new, it’s Flintstones meet the Jetsons. Fred Sanford and Leland Stanford. She will order a pair of shoes from Zappos and try to pay for it with a check. She’d use a drone to spy on whether our neighbor ordered new pillow shams. She’s a dial up modem in a digital world. Alexander Graham Dell. Buffalo Bill Gates.
And as you can tell, there’s also the issue my wife has with the language.
It started with Siri.
My wife’s relationship with Siri began well. Siri was handy with directions to a new restaurant. She could assist with selecting a nearby veterinarian.
As their relationship progressed my wife began treating Siri as a fail-safe for her own faulty memory. So it went from simple commands to impossible recall.
“What was the name of that movie I wanted to go see last week?” was just one of many inquiries. Stupid Siri couldn’t remember.
“What was the name of that book Jill was telling me about, you know the one with the two sisters who get mad at each other and don’t speak for several decades until one is on their death bed and by the time the other sister arrives it’s too late?”
Siri stopped listening at “What.”
“Why is my husband such a jerk?”
Yeah Siri. Why?
It takes Siri awhile to get used to pronunciations and the subtle nuance of speech. It would take Siri even longer to recognize the influence of Chardonnay in my wife’s slurred syntax. This is why Siri was unable to help plan a trip to the quaint California wine country town of Simona; and was unable to locate fish dicks in the freezer section of any local grocery store; and couldn’t help my wife download the classic song by Smokey Robinson, “I Suck at that Emotion.”
I finally had to tell my wife that Siri called me and said she needed a break. My wife didn’t care. She was tired of Siri anyway.
As if running off Siri wasn’t enough, my wife then proceeded to kill Uber. You read that right. It’s uber for Uber.
“Have you ever heard of Uber?” she asked one day.
Mindful of my responsibility to humanity, I decided to tread lightly.
“Is that the all male nude German revue in Deep Ellum?”
“No. It’s this cool taxi service you can get with your phone” she said.
I prayed I wasn’t too late.
“I think it only works in Russia” I said.
I thought I had deftly avoided the issue until we were on vacation last week. We left our hotel and my wife started frantically dialing a number on her cell phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to call Uber” she said.
“Uber is an app. You can’t call them.”
“I know what Uber is. I used it yesterday to go down to the wharf.”
Confused, I asked: “Did you call them?”
“No. I used the app. But now I need to tell them something.”
“What could you possibly need to tell them?”
Starting to give up on finding a number for Uber, she figured I was her last resort for a semi-attentive ear.
“Well first of all, the driver yesterday had this awful scent in his car so I wanted to make sure they sent a different driver. I smelled like jasmine all day long.”
“I have a great idea for them.”
My silence gave her an opening.
“Instead of water bottles in the cup holders they should offer small glasses of wine to their passengers after 5 p.m. They can call it a ‘wine down’ service.”
“Sounds great. Give them a call.”
And I’ll be damned if she didn’t. Somehow she found a customer service number for Uber and regaled that poor bastard with the story of the stinky driver and her money making ideas. Over the next few days she was wearing the guy out so I had to tell her Uber had gone out of business.
No matter. She was talking to someone on her phone yesterday in the back yard when I got home. They seemed to be having a nice chat. When she came inside I asked.
“So who were you talking to?”
“Siri. I was telling her this great idea I have.”
“Oh really. What is it?”
“Siri told me not to tell you. She thinks you’re a jerk.”