The Door is Ajar; or Most of the Time, Those Devices Don't Know What They're Talking About

I’m not sure if my dad is messing with me or not.

It is probably safest to assume that he is.

“So I woke up, what? 2:00, 2:30 in the morning, and I hear a voice I don’t recognize coming from the kitchen.”

I take a drink of my beer, keep a wary eye on his face.

“And I’m thinking to myself, holy cow!  There’s someone in the house!  What do I do?  Should I wake your mother?  Where’s that baseball bat?  Do I have time to go to the bathroom first?”

I snort appreciatively.  My father taps the side of his nose, nods. 

“So I go into the kitchen,” he continues, raising his eyebrows significantly, “and there’s Mumma’s phone on the table.  It’s all lit up, and as I reach for it, the phone says to me, Please say a command.

“Well, I damn-near fell over.  Please say a command, the lousy thing says.”  He shakes his head in disbelief, takes a sip of beer.  ”Pfft.”   

“So what’d you do?”

“What could I do?” he says.  “It wants a command, I’ll give it a command!  I tell it:  Shut up!”

I laugh.  “Your command is shut up?”

He nods, takes another drink.  “But does that satisfy it?  No.  Please say a command, it says again!  Another command from the phone!  So I tell it OK, shut up and drop dead.”

I can’t help myself.  I laugh again.  “Did that work?”

“Nah,” he says, rising with his empty beer can, “but I was done with it.  A phone that wakes me up, makes demands?” 

“So what’d you do?”

He shrugs, drops the can in the recycling, pulls another beer from the fridge.  “What could I do?”  He pops open the can, takes a drink.  “I stuffed it into the kitchen towel drawer.  I figured your mother could have a talk with it in the morning.”