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Arguing with Alexa

I have a confession to make: I argue with Alexa. 

Yes, by Alexa, I mean that AI voice that comes out of a device that resembles a hockey puck.  Ours has a tower that makes her louder and hard of hearing.  “Speakers,” my husband says, “To make the music sound better.”

”O . . . kay.  As long as she doesn’t have a metal arm to chase me around the house.”  I’ve seen that movie.  It didn’t end well.

When we first got Alexa, I decided to see if she was a proper robot.  “Alexa,” I said, “Count by primes.”  I tried asking the question in different ways and only succeeded in getting a definition of what a prime number is.  “What kind of robot are you?  Every robot should be able to count by primes.”  Just to be very clear, I cannot count primes.  But I do think a robot should be able to.  They’re descended from a long line of calculators after all.  Alexa was not pleased with my reaction.  She turned bright red and refused to speak to me for a few minutes.

For a while, I thought it was a fluke.  She couldn’t really be mad, right?  She’s AI.  Then there was the doo incident.

Alex interrupted a conversation to tell us how to sing.  We weren’t singing or talking about singing or talking to her.  As I frequently remind her, “Alexa, nobody’s talking to you.”

”Practice the notes doo through . . .”

”Alexa, did you just say doo?  It’s do, like doe a deer.  You never hear someone say doo a deer, that’s ridiculous.”  I have seen The Sound of Music, I know it’s not doo.

Yet again, Alexa turned red and refused to talk to me.

”Mommy,” asked my daughter, “why isn’t Alexa working?”

”She’s mad at me,” I respond.

I realize most people probably have a neutral relationship with their Alexa, but I’ve never gotten on well with AIs.  A lot of them don’t understand me, which I’m starting to think is for the better.  The robot takeover is not looking good for me.

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