Despite my plans to run through the Apple store up the block screaming “Android Rulez!” (and yes, the “z” is absolutely necessary) every time Apple launches a new product, I’ve yet to do it. Why? Because that would be a hot, steaming pile of bullshit. I miss my i(can’t)Phone like I miss butter. Wait, back up. I still eat butter. No, not by the STICK or anything, but alas, I digress.
My coworkers and I had gone out for lunch on Monday because, well, FOOD, DUH, and we’re used to the whole “working lunch” thing which basically means we try not to drool on the keyboard as we work. In my case, as you may have guessed, this is more of a reality than it is for the rest of my coworkers. On the way back, my coworkers rubbed their awesome i(can’t)Phones in my face as I tried to make my Android pull up a text message*
*note, it did NOT work
by showing me how awesome Siri is.
And by “awesome,” I mean, “she sucks.” While Ryan got Siri to tell him a story, I couldn’t even get my phone to turn on. When I asked the bland Android female robot in my phone to “tell me a joke,” my phone sorta did this fizzle-out thing and turned itself off. Apparently, my Android doesn’t like awesome. Or me.
Now, I’ve been working hard to stalk one of my coworkers as it seems like a good thing to do. Not because I really have the time to wipe my ass these days, but because, well, I’VE NEVER STALKED ANYONE. I can imagine getting a telephoto lens and taking rando surveillance photos o him doing such things as “taking out the trash,” and “eating an apple,” and then developing them in the darkroom I don’t have, then pasting them above my bed. Why? IT JUST SEEMS LIKE A GOOD IDEA.
Because I have absolutely no filter, he knows my plan to stalk him and is perfectly happy to allow me up to two minutes each work day to do so. We’ve gone to great lengths to determine what “stalking” entails – it’s not standing and having a conversation or even doing that standing uncomfortably close massaging his shoulders and creepily whispering “Hey Buddy,” in his ear. He’s immune to all that. I think it’s because he’s from New York and that’s probably how people there greet one another. Or maybe they sniff each the other’s butt. I don’t really know.
The last time we spent time discussing my stalking habits, my coworker Ryan overheard us yammering on and was all, I should do something. Thanks, Ryan. So what does he do? He whips out his cell phone and tells Siri,
“Help, Becky is stalking me.”Siri responded by providing him local emergency contacts. I can’t take a picture on my phone and Siri is ready to make Ryan coffee, walk his dog, and protect him from the big, bad, mean girl in the office.
I guess I should be grateful that Siri didn’t actually call the police or anything, but really, I’m just pissed off that the bitch can’t even tell me where to bury a body.
Wait. What?
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