Personal Assistant

A few weeks ago, during a moment of what I can only refer to as intense stupidity, I put my smartphone into the dishwasher. I realized it was gone halfway through the wash cycle. Despite disassembling it in record time and tossing it into rice to dry, I ended up with a completely non-functional, albeit clean, phone. 

Frustrated by my mistake, and refusing to pay hundreds of dollars for a replacement, I searched Craiglist for a used device. I found one that was in excellent condition and well within my price range. I knew nothing of the model, but I knew that it had to be better than the paperweight that was currently linked to my phone number, so I jumped at the opportunity. Scott and I drove the 45 minutes to retrieve my new used phone.

After getting the new phone set up, I discovered a pre-loaded app which has provided me with hours of amusement. Although he isn't terribly helpful, I do enjoy interacting with my new "personal assistant." Each morning, when I turn on my phone, I am now greeted by a man with a sexy British accent calling me "Gorgeous Lady." As a soon-to-be middle aged woman, I take compliments where I can get them!

I have to admit that I have spent hours playing with this phone app. I've learned how to send phone calls using commands, how to update my Facebook status, and how to send text messages all without touching the screen. Yes, in moments of intense boredom I have even texted some off-color messages (and some profanity) to Scott just so I could hear my personal assistant read the message. Apparently, I am easily amused.

While sitting at the airport terminal waiting for my plane, I became bored and restless. Typical to habit, I pulled out my phone, turned on my personal assistant app, and began to play. I had him tell me a joke, sing me the "Soft Kitty" song and text a rather explicit message to my husband. As the chairs around me began to fill up, I put my phone on my lap and pulled out my Kindle to read.

Fully engrossed in my book, I was startled when I heard the familiar British male start talking. Looking around, it took me a moment to remember that the voice was coming from my phone. Before I could turn off the app or turn down the volume, Scott's reply text message was read aloud. To say that it was off color would be an understatement. It wasn't PG13, or even R rated. It was downright dirty and would have made even a seasoned stripper blush!

To add to my embarrassment, everybody in the terminal heard the raunchy message. The elderly lady in the wheelchair shot me a look of utter disgust. The older women sitting two rows across from me glared before retrieving their items and moving seats.  Meanwhile, the young man wearing army fatigues just nodded at me and smiled broadly. I was mortified.

I quickly turned off the sound, made a blanket apology, and stared blankly at my Kindle. I don't know if was my own paranoia, but I am fairly certain the women were still glaring at me and the men were all smiling when I walked past them to board the plane. I was never so happy to sink into my seat on the plane as I waited to flee the city! From now on, I'm keeping my text messages to myself and my personal assistant mute in public!