My Bluetooth is out to get me. Oh, sure, I’ve always had a problem with this technology. First with the original Bluetooth – the one where everyone wore what appeared to be ginormous, ugly earrings in one ear? I hated those things and not just because of the ugly earring aspect.
For one thing, I’d walk around the grocery store and everybody was chatting. And if you dared to answer, the chatter would look at you with disdain and mouth, “NO, I’m on my phone.” Honestly? I learned very quickly to mouth back, “What? I’m on the phone,” then turn down another aisle as quickly as possible.
And of course, sometimes the person would actually be speaking to me, but I’d assume she was on her phone and wouldn’t answer. Then, I’d spend a week fielding phone calls like, “You didn’t talk to Teresa in the grocery store last Tuesday, are you mad at her?” Um, no, it’s just that I thought Teresa was talking to her ugly earring and not me.
In all honesty the only reason I wore my Bluetooth was so that I could wander the streets of South Valley and talk to myself and nobody would realize that I am completely insane. But now hardly anyone wears the ugly earring. Now many of us have Bluetooth in our cars. This poses serious problems for me.
For one thing, my Bluetooth is voice activated. Do you know what that means? It means my Bluetooth is listening to every word I say. Yes. It is. Every single word. I don’t like that. Sometimes when I’m just having a perfectly normal conversation in the car, the Bluetooth will interrupt and shout at me, “Hands-free is now activated. Say a command.”
Hello? I’m not commanding, I’m chatting. And frankly, I believe that Bluetooth is quite rude to interrupt, not to mention the fact that it scares the bejeebers out of me to realize it’s listening to everything I say. Have I mentioned that it does that? Because that’s kind of scary.
And then of course there are the times when I am alone in my car, perhaps singing off key to the radio. And perhaps it’s something nobody realizes I listen to like, say Eminem, and then suddenly my Bluetooth will say, “OK, calling Sandra.”
What? I don’t want to call Sandra. I’m singing, not commanding. But there I am in my car, rapping with Eminem and suddenly Sandra is all, “Um, Laurie, is that you?” And there is no covering for that. I mean, everyone has caller ID now. So I can’t say, “Sorry, wrong number.” Or even, “Hey lady do you have Prince Albert in a can?” Instead I have to admit that Eminem and I called her accidentally thanks to my demon-possessed Bluetooth.
As if all this wasn’t bad enough, whenever I do try to dial a number the stupid Bluetooth pretends it doesn’t understand me. I’ll tell it to do something like, “Call Harry mobile.” And then it very deviously says back to me, “OK, calling Grandma Honey, home.”
Seriously? Seriously? Those names aren’t even close. So I’ll start again and tell the evil Bluetooth “Call Harry, mobile.” And it will say back, “OK, calling Chevrolet dealership.” I swear, it’s like talking to a teenager. You never know what the stupid Bluetooth is going to do or say.
I’m telling you, my Bluetooth is out to get me. And if the darn thing ever says to me, “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave,” I am totally throwing it out the window and then running it over. Several times. Just to make sure it’s dead. And then I’m going back to the ginormous, ugly earring. At least it listened to me.
