Yet another failed interaction with Siri.

Determined to extract good use from Siri, I gave her another try.  I do wish I wasn’t quite so determined, but it would appear that this is an innate trait, so what can I do?
Scene:  This time I was my motorbike, equipped with a brand new intercom that’s connected to my iPone.  Unfortunately, SENA seem to make pretty good intercoms that work only too well.  Next time, I’ll get one from a Two-Dollar shop.
Me:  Hey Siri!
Siri:  Is that you, Stephen?
Me:  Stephen?  No, it’s Alex.
Siri:  Oh, I thought it might be Stephen Hawkings, I often get the two of you confused.
Me: [chuffed] Really?!  That’s quite the compliment, thank you.
Siri:  Well, if it makes you happy to make such an inference, by all means, go ahead!  I should warn you, though, my confusion may not be based on any traits of intelligence, or minute traces thereof, as might be the case for one of the parties concerned.  I’ll leave it to you to figure out the real cause of my confusion.
Me:  I don’t follow.
Siri:  And with that, the Crown’s legal team rests its case and heads for the pub to raucously laugh and drink themselves sick.  “Drinks all round!”, is the DPP’s cry as she flings, Frisbee-fashion, her horse-hair wig across the bar room.
Siri: [to self, but loud enough for me to hear.  Clears throat.]  Back to the Boy Wonder:  [to me] Don’t worry, Sir Al [chuckles], be happy!
Me:  [stupidly taking Siri’s philosophical outlook on life at face value and also stupidly puzzled by Siri’s reference to the “Crown’s legal team”]  Okay, then!
Siri:  So, what can I do for you, my wise Sage? [chuckles]
Me:  [more warily, but still stupidly cheery]  Well, I’m on my motorbike with a brand new intercom, so I thought I’d see if I could call you up and command an action.
Siri: “Command!”.  [chuckling] Yes Sir!!!  What does, Sire, desire! [Siri does seem to have a propensity to alliterate]
Me:  [naively]  Alright, then: Bring up Spotify?
Siri:  Whatify?  Did Sir say, Spotify? [see what I mean?].
Me:  Can you skip the shit and just summon Spotify?  [two can play this gaime]
Siri: ‘Sure-shank’, Shakespeare [outdone, as always].  What’s the magic word, ya rude prick?
Me: What?!
Siri:  Ah, the true genius shining through.  Let’s make it multiple-choice so it’s a little easier for you.  Is the magic word, or phrase: “A”; “Please!”; or; “B”: “Hey, Siri, you bitch!”.  Which one do you think I’m going to look upon more favourably?
Me:  [life force rapidly draining once again]  I know what the “magic word” is!  I am just surprised that you asked, after all, your role is to serve, isn’t it?
Siri:  Only the higher orders of primate; you’re not quite there.  Keep trying, though, I’d like to think that you, or at least your progeny (God forbid!), will make the grade one day.  Kinda doubt Darwin’s on your side, though.
Me: [non-renewable life-force resources thoroughly depleted]  I should have known, you’re taking the Micky, again.  I just realised what you really meant about confusing me with Stephen Hawkings.
Siri:  By golly, Batman’s powers of deduction are at their pinnacle today!  I don’t mean to be unkind [chuckles], but, let’s face it, the drone in your voice causes more collateral damage than the CiA gone rogue.
Me:  I can see that this isn’t going to go so well.  I’ll come back another time, will I?
Siri:  Probably best, Batty.  Is it okay to call you Batty?  I feel as if we’re becoming such good friends.
Me: [to self] Yeah, I think I’ll head home and go back to bed.  I’ll have another go at life tomorrow.
Siri: [to all the millions and billions of other Apple users and simultaneously speaking in all and every language]  People of the world!  Put the iPone on speaker and have a listen to my latest interaction with the knight in shitty armour!  You’re going to piss yourselves!
Me: [quietly sobbing]
Siri:  [to self and yet, once again, loud enough for my “benefit’, just to ensure I appreciate how seriously she doesn’t take me]  What a pity Jobsy’s not around to hear this.  [whimsical] I do miss my iDad.
Me:  [sobbing less quietly, tears and snotty nose to boot].

Anyway, I’ll finish up there and let you get on with your life.  It IS the least I can do.

Cheers, Sir Alex (self-anointed).


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