I texted a friend of mine this week, and, as is so often the case with my efficient one-finger texting, I made an error. And to compound my own error, my phone decided to make its own changes to my corrected message, correcting my corrections.
What I texted was “Sorry, I mis-keyed that last text; I meant to say….” After hitting send, I noticed that my phone thought, “Mis-keyed? I don’t know that word, so let’s use Listened.” My corrected message now said, “Sorry, I listened that last text…” Does that make more sense? Does that make any sense? I may not text fast, but I type what I mean, mostly. I don’t need edits. I may mis-type something, but don’t just change my words on a whim. How about a warning, instead of just sending a message that makes no sense?
I have a love-hate relationship with my cell phone. I am not a fan of texting. I tend to believe that if you are already holding your phone and bringing up my number, maybe you should just call me – we’ll talk. I talk better than I text.
But my kids text, my grandkids text, so I have tried to adapt. I usually read texts within an hour or two now, a huge improvement from a year ago when I sometimes wouldn’t notice a text for a week or more.
But it’s not just texting that is frustrating. Why do these things cost so much? I bought a 75-inch high-definition color television a couple of years ago that cost less than a new smartphone; and it is a smart television. It gets about a thousand channels, responds to voice commands, sometimes even when we don’t command it, surfs the internet, and is one more place I have multiple apps, multiple passwords, and multiple frustrations. The TV may be as smart as the phone. I believe they both think they are smarter than me.
And why does everyone want to show videos and scenic pictures on a two-inch screen? It is amazing how we all crowd around someone’s cell phone to take a look at pictures from your exotic cruise, or a cute video of your dog in a hat. I have a smart TV that could show your dog as life-size.
And how about upgrades? My phone tends to upgrade applications when I don’t ask for upgrades. I got a notice that my messaging app would be going away in three weeks and I should choose a replacement app. I didn’t want a new app; I haven’t completely learned the app that is apparently obsolete.
I strive NOT to add apps to my phone, but the phone decided I needed to get a new app, so it’s there now. There is a learning curve, lost functions, and a few lost messages. But it’s new. In a few weeks, I’ll be almost proficient… unless my phone decides I need something else.
My time-saving cell phone takes up a lot of my time. I don’t really need version 6.15 of anything when my current version 1.0 is working just fine. If I can keep version 1.0, I do.
My phone upgrades apps without asking. It rearranges menus. It changes settings. It logs out of accounts I just logged into. It often pops up with a cheerful little announcement: “Great news! We’ve improved your experience!” Thanks, but no thanks: you’ve hidden everything I knew how to use.
I don’t ever remember saying, “You know what would really improve my life? If the icons I’ve been using for three years disappeared overnight.”
I suspect that Samsung has a department dedicated to moving buttons around to see if anyone notices.
Imagine walking into the supermarket. “Excuse me, can you direct me to the milk and eggs?”
“We’ve enhanced your shopping experience. Milk is now between automotive supplies and lawn furniture, and eggs are in a cooler out behind the store.”
Technology companies call that innovation. The rest of us call it something that I can’t print.
Artificial intelligence is supposed to make life easier. Maybe.
It may be smart, but I’d prefer to make my own mistakes.
Curt MacRae is a resident of Coldwater, MI and publishes opinion columns regularly.
To be notified by email when a column is published, or to offer feedback: rantsbymac@gmail.com
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