I’ve always known that a lot of cripples don’t trust hands-free, voice recognition technology. Voice recognition technology is half deaf. You tell your computer or phone to go to google.com and it goes to gargle.com or poodle.com or bugle.com or God knows where the hell else.
I know voice recognition technology can still be a pain in the ass. But I never knew it could ruin my life.
But it all began when Fiona, one of the pit crew members here at Smart Ass Cripple HQ, saw what appeared to be a cockroach in the kitchen. I called my building manager to report the roach sighting and my building manager called an exterminator.
This was right after I got my first cell phone, which is mounted in a removable bracket to my wheelchair. And the phone is trained to recognize my voice so I don’t always have to touch the screen to make calls or look stuff up. And it’s trained to ignore everything I say until I first say, “okay google now." Then the screen lights up and the phone awaits further instructions. And I tell it to call so-and-so or look up this and that and it makes a sound like “bleeeooop” and it obeys my command.
The problem is, my phone either has impacted wax in its ears or it’s not too bright or it’s possessed by a smart ass demon. Because I’ll tell it to do something like call Manny and sometimes it will first try to call Greg or Doug or Fred or Maria of Rahnee or Sullivan or my Aunt Gerry or my bank or my building manager or every damn person in the universe except Manny. And sometimes it doesn’t even wait for me to say “okay google now." Once I was talking to some people and my phone went “bleeeoop” and for some reason it performed an internet search of the words, “I’m a little girl.”
The exterminator diligently inspected my kitchen counter. My building manager and I watched from behind. I told the exterminator Fiona saw a big black bug.
“Bleeeooop!” went my phone. Except it thought I said big black butt. And it took me to a porn site displaying several pictures of large black women shaking and flaunting their bare butts. My building manager maintained a poker face and pretended like he didn’t see a thing. But I know he did. And he probably said to himself, “Damn, can’t this pervert wait five minutes until we leave?”
And that’s not the only time my phone has done that. Sometimes I tell it to go to cubs.com so I can check the baseball scores. And it’s taken me to cum.com and cums.com. You can imagine what those sites are like.
So now my life is ruined because we live in an age where there is no privacy. Everything you do on the internet becomes part of your permanent record, just like your grade school principal warned. It’s all forever stored in a computer of an evil spy apparatus like the NSA or Google. And anybody with the determination and wherewithal to dig it up can dig it up. So if I ever run for public office my opponent will unearth my visit to the big black butt porn site and put it in an attack ad. How will I ever defend myself? “Well you see, one day Fiona discovered a cockroach and…” Who’d believe it?
And I’ll never be able to get a job or apartment that requires a background check. The only jobs I’ll be able to get are ones where they consider the fact that I've searched the internet using the words big black butt and I'm a little girl to be a plus.
Either way my life is ruined.