After a few frightening moments of questioning my sanity, I finally figured out that my phone was the one who was talking. Siri (a voice recognition system for iPhones), though muffled, was gabbing away, seemingly to no one in particular, in a pocket of my bag. I must have bumped it (with all the schlepping), and the phone was just doing its job.
She (the female voice, or Siri) said something like, "What can I do for you today?"
I ignored her, (Siri) because I find it difficult to delegate in the midst of chaos, especially to 'a telephone. Instead, I tuned into my children's conversation; they spoke over and to each other simultaneously as children tend to do. We continued to stomp along avoiding icy puddles while carrying a trombone case, several lunch boxes, backpacks, and bags of winter gear like skates, helmets, and snow pants. We arrived at the car, out of breath.
Siri would not be ignored. She spoke again, this time louder: "What can I help you with today, SHEILA?"
I dropped my keys. Stupid phone. Sheila is my sister's name. The last time I was called Sheila by mistake was when my elementary school teachers were burnt out and confused, or my mother was overwhelmed or distracted. At times, my mother wouldn't just call me Sheila; she would say all of our names in a giant word, loudly, like this, "CHRISRICKSHEILAAMY!"
No, Siri, I am NOT my sister Sheila. I am me. My name is Amy, I thought.
Initially, it was sort of funny, because I had had one of "those" days where anything that could go strange, did. I chuckled, grabbed the phone out of the pocket and turned her off. I have the power to do so. Ha! I won!
For now.
We talked about it... The phone and I. Later that night, after the kids were in bed, I pushed the button for Siri to appear and do her thing.
"What can I help you with tonight?" She asked politely.
"My name is Amy." I said firmly.
"No, your name is Sheila, but would you like me to call you 'my name is Amy' from now on?"
"What? No! My name is Amy!"
"That is what I said. If you want, I will call you 'my name is Amy' from now on, Sheila. Would you like that?"
"No. I am Amy."
"Okay 'no, I am Amy'. Would you like me to call you 'no, I am Amy" from now on?"
"Ack!" I turned her off again, resisting the urge to throw her out the window into a snow bank.
Please don't tell my phone that I am mad at her. I don't know if she could handle it. She may blow a gasket.
Do iPhones have gaskets? Probably not. She may punish me, then. She may erase an important meeting off my calendar, claiming the iCloud is full. She may forget to track a glass of water on my water app or add calories to my Lose It app, throwing me off my health game and New Year's resolution. No, my phone can't know I am REALLY mad.
But enough about my phone and back to my sister, Sheila. My phone thinks I am Sheila. But I am not.
I am younger than Sheila, by six years, which has always worked well for me. She blazed the high school trail with good grades, so I rebelled by getting bad grades. She went to a small college, so I went to a bigger one. She majored in literature, so I focused on writing. I am taller, so she's cuter... Thinner... Lucky her. She blazed the parenting trail before me. Her boys are big enough to have deep voices now and mine have to be reminded to flush and wash their hands EVERY time they use the bathroom. Sheila works in the comfort of her home while wearing pajamas for her job. I play emotional wack-a-mole in public school every day as I engage 5 year olds in what we are now calling "common core." And I can't wear pajamas unless it has been declared "pajama day" at school.
That about says it all. We are not the same Siri, so why the hell are you getting us mixed up?
Seriously. Someone help me.
Maybe I should examine how Sheila and I are alike to see if I can determine why the phone is confused.
Let's see:
We have the same last name.
We have similar voices.
We love adventures and trying new things.
We think the sun rises and sets on our kids.
We like to read and write.
We live in Vermont.
We both know how to knit.
We have the same parents.
We like the show "LOST".
Our phone numbers share the same area code (802).
I showed my friend Java the phone. I held it up and asked Siri, "What is my name?"
"Your name is Sheila, but since we are friends, I call you Amy." Siri said contentedly.
I talked to my father about the phone mixing up his two daughters. He was a computer programmer for most of his adult life. He has dealt with the black and white thinking... The binary ness of a program like Siri.
He gave it some thought and declared, "Tell the phone 'never call me Sheila again'... That'll fix it."
I did just that. Her response? "Do you want me to call you 'Sheila' again?
"No. I am Amy. Amy. Amy."
"I will call you Amy. Amy Amy."
"I want you to call me 'Amy' from now on."
"Okay 'Amy from now on' do you want me to call you 'Amy from now on' from now on?"
"No!" I shouted.
I didn't talk to her for two days. Finally, I picked her up, and hands shaking, I summoned Siri. "What can I do for you today 'Amy. Amy. Amy'?"
"Call me Amy." I said calmly. I had thought of the most challenging question of all for Siri. I wanted to know if she could figure this out and I thought it would be a nice distraction from our typical conversation. "AND, what am I wearing?" I asked her.
"Ok 'Amy AND' Would you like me to search the Internet for 'what am I wearing?' for you 'Amy AND?'"
"Yes."
Siri searched. She came up with, "It is likely that you are wearing clothes 'Amy AND'."
There you have it. I was wearing clothes. My outfit was implied in my sentence and able to be found on the Internet apparently. I will never win with this Siri program. People have suggested I call tech support. Other's say I should demand a free phone. Nope. I will win this battle with Siri. I am not a computer. I have feelings and a soul and I am stubborn and I will win.
I gave it some more thought and finally figured out why my phone wants to call me by my sister's name. It is completely my fault. I told her too.
When I first met Siri, I summoned her. When she asked me what she could do for me, I said the two words I now regret: "Call Sheila." I wanted her to call my sister and the phone heard, "Call ME Sheila" even though that is not what I said. The rest is history.
Since I have met Siri, I have come to the conclusion that dealing with phones and five year olds is the same. They both take what I say literally and every single word that leaves my mouth better be perfect, because they depend on me to give very clear instructions. That is a lot of pressure, isn't it? Every word!
And at times, kindergarteners can be as mixed up as Siri. Recently, a child said to me, "Mrs. Braun... She stuck my tongue out at her."
I paused and, like Siri, I couldn't process what the child was trying to say. My response: "Uh... Did you like it?"
Child: "No!"
Me: "Then tell her you didn't like it."
Child: "Otay."
As always, a good night's sleep will give me the patience I need and the clarity to find the words to say to Siri and to my brood of five year olds. I will wake up tomorrow with a new approach to getting through to all of them: kids and iPhones alike. What other choice is there? I have to try it all over again... It is what I do.
I teach... Therefore I am... Not... My sister.
