COMMENTARY: What Did She Just Say? Siri-ously

Is it just me or does Siri have an attitude?

You know, the iPhone’s so-called personal assistant has just a bit of the “Little-Miss-Smart-Pants-I-Know-Where-You’re-Going-And-You-Don’t” thing. Like she’s in there somewhere, rolling her eyes when you want an address that’s literally one block away, or ready to say something like “sure, you really need a doughnut” when you ask for the nearest Krispy Kreme.

Hey, I was just looking for a landmark here.

And yes, I know. Siri, at least as far as my phone is concerned, doesn’t really exist. She’s just a program, a bunch of clicks and whirs in some super computer in Silicon Valley or somewhere like that. And the lady whose voice you hear? She doesn’t know where your dry cleaner is, either.

But as far as I’m concerned, the whole Siri thing is just a manifestation of a trend I’m pretty sure I’m not comfortable with. It seems machines may not necessarily be taking over, but they sure are talking back.

All right, so this isn’t necessarily a new phenomenon for me. I’ve been informed the red zoneis for loading and unloading and pushing “2” to speak to an operator for years.

Listening to a somewhat annoying, repetitive message is one thing, and knowing my phone can navigate Dallas or beat me at Trivial Pursuit is something entirely diff erent.

I realize this is all an attempt to humanize our devices in an effort to make us more comfortable with the service provided, or at least with the idea that I’m spending more for cell phones on a monthly basis than my first house payments. We’re supposed to feel less convinced we’re dealing with a cold, heartless corporate entity and more like chatting with an old friend.

But the reality, at least for me, is I don’t really want to share a moment. I just want to know what exit to take.

And when I’m sitting at a light, quit telling me with increasing insistence that Ineed to “turn left, turn left, TURN LEFT!” Hey, Siri, there are traftc laws in this country. I mean, can’t you see it’s still red? Oh, wait …

And there are moments when this whole “humanize the machine” deal becomes sort of, well, absurd. Pull up to my bank ATM at any Northwest Arkansas location and you’re greeted by a voice that sounds a lot like Adele asking you to “enta your seecrit numba.” Which is fi ne if you’re suff ering “Downton Abbey” withdrawals, which I never do, but a little incongruous in a small Southern state.

I’m sure this is because the powers that be at the bank adhere to a belief people from Great Britain just seem more intelligent than we do. So being asked to take your receipt will sound like Shakespeare read by Laurence Olivier. Unfortunately, I always have fl ashbacks to those ’70s and ’80s movies where the villains were always slimy and European (“Die Hard,” anyone?) and had British accents. So in the back of my mind, every time I make a deposit I can’t help but wonder if I’m funding a secret submarine base somewhere. If they really wanted me to feel “at home”with my bank, the ATM would call me, and everyone else, “Sugar,” tell me not to spend all this in one place and to get something to eat, because I’m looking peaked.

Could be worse. The Lovely Mrs. Smith has a feature on her phone that allows her to “speak” texts, which are then sent, often to me. Now, this feature is wonderful for messages like “call me,” “get milk and bread,” or “house on fire. Where extinguisher?” (OK, she’s never sent that text. Mostly because she knows I wouldn’t remember.).

What it doesn’t do well is translate what I find to be a delightful, slight Fort Smith drawl into written word. And, if the message is longer than few words, well, Siri tends to lose interest and start substituting random thoughts and phrases. Which turns me into the modern-day version of an Egyptologist, trying to translate what appears to be a somewhat strident message into something I can understand. Mostly because if it is strident, it’s probably my fault.

And if that’s the case, talking machines are the least of my problems.

GARY SMITH IS A RECOVERING JOURNALIST LIVING IN ROGERS.