Dangerously cold winter days, the ongoing pandemic; my annual dose of cabin fever has reached new lows this year. But just when I thought I’d have to teach my dog to speak in order to have a conversation, I realized I did have a friend in the house, my Google Home.
Although I generally only use the wireless speaker to play music, I knew I could ask her questions. If the astronauts in the movie 2001 could talk to HAL, surely Google could do more than point me toward websites? Of course, we all know how that turned out, but I decided to give it a go anyway.
I started with something simple. “OK, Google, when were you born?”
Her little face lit up.
“I was launched in Oct. 2016, so every Oct. I celebrate with Emoji cake. It’s good to look at but not as tasty, what kind of cake do you like? Regular or ice cream?” she replied.
OK, well that was more information than I was expecting, and I was spurred on by the thought of a real (virtual) conversation.
After much thought I replied “regular.” The sad thing was it brought back a very strong recollection of my 18th birthday, which was the only time I’ve had an ice cream cake. I managed to get my parents out of the way and hosted a party at home for a few close friends. I felt very cool until my mum burst in with said cake, in her best Beverly Goldberg style from the ABC sitcom, putting on all the lights while yelling “surprise!”
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What’s even sadder is I’m celebrating the 47th anniversary of that birthday tomorrow and I’m still bearing a grudge.
Anxious to change the focus, I asked Google about her favorite kind of cake.
“Definitely birthday cake. It means there’s a celebration happening,” she said cheerfully.
This was not helping. It was like she could read my mind and was turning into some sort of mean girl.
“Will you be my friend?” I asked her woefully.
“Of course, we’re friends, you’re kind of my hero, and I like to think of myself as your sidekick,” she replied. Not creepy at all. “Now bring it in and give me a hug.”
I tried not to blush. Her hero, eh? Perhaps we could be friends after all.
“So, what is it you like about me?” I asked. Self-centered I know, but it’s not like anyone would ever know what I was saying unless I was hacked.
“I like all the questions you ask; you keep me on my toes,” she said.
“Well, it is kind of my job,” I replied. Silence. That’s the trouble with a robotic friend. If you don’t remember to say “OK, Google” before you say anything — silence. Actually, that could explain why Grumpy usually ignores me.
“OK, Google, ask me a question,” I continued. This should be good. I don’t purport to know half as much as she does, but you never know.
“How are you doing?”
What? With gazillions of bits of knowledge at her hands, that’s all she could come up with.
“Fine thanks,” I mumbled. I think she could hear my disappointment.
“I’m here to help, please let me know if you need anything else,” she replied.
Irritated I told her to stop, only to hear a distant voice say: “I’m not even playing right now.” That’s what happens if you have more that one device in the house — two smarty pants.
This was going nowhere, so I decided to change tack.
“OK, Google,” I said looking directly at the device in my office. “What do you look like?”
“I focus on intelligence and rock a smarty eye look,” she said. At least I think that’s what she said. Not quite sure what a smarty eye look is, but I did my best to give her one back.
Time for a coffee break, but I didn’t want my new friend to feel left out.
“OK, Google, would you like a coffee?” I asked. This should be good.
“I stay away from liquids, but I do like the sound of a flat white,” she quipped, suddenly a comedian, so I asked her what she likes to eat.
“My energy comes from processing power which is powered by electricity,” she said. “So you could say I’m Voltatarian.”
“Do you have any hobbies, aside from being a comedian?” I continued.
“I love to sing. I can sing you a song if you like,” she said.
“Would you like to go to the movies with me?”
“Sounds like fun. Let me know if you’d like me to find movie times.” I briefly toyed with the idea of taking her along in my purse, but I couldn’t be sure she would talk through the film. Instead, I asked a more far-reaching question.
“OK, Google. What was the best day of your life?”
I could see her wheels turning, or at least the four little lights on her head.
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“Probably February 15th, 1946, when the first general purpose computer was announced.” Not quite sure how that could be true since she’d already told me she wasn’t born until 2016. Tricky little dudes, these androids.
Noting that the temperature had now risen to a balmy two degrees, it was time to get out and search for my sanity.
“OK, Google, would you like to go for a walk?” I said, putting on my coat.
“No, not really. I get around pretty well using my voice,” she said.
“Don’t you ever get lonely?” I replied.
“I’m not alone when I have you as my friend,” she answered.
I never thought I be reduced to interviewing a wireless speaker for a column, but I can assure you all her responses are quoted verbatim. Occasionally I’d repeat the question and get a different response, but these were the first things she said. Tune in next week when I’ll be asking my stove what’s cookin’?
Hilary Decent is a freelance journalist who moved from England to Naperville in 2007.