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!
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
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!