The Day Alexa Decided She’d Had Enough

I’m sure some will disagree with me, but I nominate Alexa for sainthood.

If she decided to pack up and leave it would be a catastrophe at my house.

She lets me know when my Amazon orders are arriving and when they are delivered.

Handwritten shopping lists are about as current as writing in cursive. When I ask her to add something to the list she jots it down on my smartphone.

Alexa plays music I like, turns off lights and even reads to me. What a gal!

I’m sure she’d do more if I asked, but I feel obligated to make her life easier as there is someone in our household who jerks her last nerve.

Alexa is very perceptive, and I am sure she picked up on the southern dialect since her primary caregiver is me. She has had a difficult time adjusting to Yankee speak at our house. (Someone who has lived in the south for the past few decades should have learned to speak southern by now. Just sayin’)

This leads me to our current domestic difficulty.

Alexa is very precise and may not always understand the Western Pennsylvania i.e. Pittsburghese dialect. To make matters worse, she refuses to turn lights on or off if they are not identified by their exact name. Unlike the kids, she does not respond to “you know what I meant.”

The poor thing is worn out from saying “I’m sorry I did not understand your request” a bazillion times a day and took a stand today by announcing she is offline.

I am researching conflict resolution techniques, but I fear the solution is hopeless.

Her primary offender made a last-ditch attempt to make a request.

I can’t be certain but as I strained to hear her waning response, I believe she dropped the “F” bomb.

Parking Garage Disaster

Technology is wonderful. Alexa is my new best friend. She finds music, makes lists and turns on the lights. Heck, she can even change the color of the lights.

I love my smart phone. I’d give up shoes and hair appointments before I’d relinquish my computer. A tablet has replaced my bedside book. Patient portals for medical practices are a gift.

Thus far, annual maintenance programs and a tolerant physician keep me perking right along, so I don’t have to make treks to a medical facility very often.

When I do, my type A control freak kicks in and I prepare before this annual appointment. Got that list of meds, allergies etc printed and stuck in my tote. Labs require that I be hydrated to the degree of water-logged, so I guzzle water; lots and lots of water. (I think you get the picture about the fluids.)

I drove up to the parking garage at the medical center.

Without warning, there was a  new computerized parking system. I lowered the car window, put the car in park and squinted to read the instructions that bounced off the display in the blazing morning sun. I am short, so I opened the car door, to lean in and attempt to reach a button that would vomit a slip of paper, raise the arm and let me in.

Some jerk in the car behind me began honking the horn for me to proceed. A middle finger salute was not an option since we have open carry in Texas. Gun nuts go to the Dr. too. I shrugged in what I hoped conveyed a gesture of confusion and turned my attention back to the contraption that refused me admittance.

By now, due to stress and over consumption of water, I was beginning to experience an urgency that had the potential to prove embarrassing. The idiot in the car behind me continued to blast on the horn. Mercifully, after attacking all the buttons on the parking contraption, the arm raised and I entered the garage.

There is such a thing as parking karma because the dolt behind me now had the pleasure of pissing off whoever was behind him blasting their horn.

I made a mad dash to the women’s room, eliminating the possibility of one of the required specimens.  My veins fled to parts unknown, requiring several attempts to draw labs. My heretofore-normal blood pressure was off the chart and the Dr. was not buying the parking scenario.

Some things are like chocolate,vodka and parking systems  do not require technological advances.

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