Sunday, October 20, 2013

Don’t call me Ms. Amazing!

“I am not Ms. Amazing!” I shouted into the phone.

It was Sunday morning, and I was worked into a frustrated fury.

“Stop calling me that!” I shouted again.

No, I wasn’t trying to be modest. No, I didn’t have a person on the other end of the line arguing about how great I was. I was talking to Siri.

You know her well by now, I’m sure. She’s the sarcastic voice that lives in the iphone, a device that reminds me every day – despite what Siri calls me – that I am not Ms. Amazing. In fact, smart technology reminds me every day that I just might be an idiot.

I had upgraded my work phone to the new IOS 7 and had gotten several emails that morning, all addressed to, you guessed it, Ms. Amazing.

“Arggggh,” I screamed into the phone, sounding like Charlie Brown when he is tricked by Lucy again as he is about to kick the football. “Kids, you did this!”

“What?” they asked as they looked up from their weekend homework.

“You told Siri I was Ms. Amazing two years, and now everyone in my contacts knows!”

They both looked confused - and amused.

I remember it well. I had first gotten my phone, and they wanted to talk to Siri, and I allowed them to ask her a few questions until she seemed to get annoyed and finally said, “I don’t know who you are.”

My daughter had responded by saying, “Call me Ms. Amazing.”

Siri, in all her brilliance, had added the title to my name and given the kids a big laugh in the process. I had forgotten about it until the upgrade when, suddenly, my nickname was back, showing up in the to field of my email.

“I’m trying to get people to take me seriously at work,” I said. “I don’t want them to know I’m Ms. Amazing!”

My son asked, “Do you want them to think you’re ordinary?” and he shouted in jest, “I’m just like everybody else!”

I had to admit that was pretty funny. His comment calmed me down and allowed me to see the humor in the situation. It was Sunday morning after all.

In the end, my rant took longer than it did to actually fix the problem on the phone. The kids got a lecture about never touching it again and an apology from their not-so-amazing mom for overreacting.

Lesson learned, Sir, lesson learned.