The answer, I’m afraid, is a little worrisome. Quite obviously, I am dependent, some might say addicted to my OS. I never leave the house willingly without my phone, and if I do, I almost obsessive check it.
Naturally I use it for my email—it’s even kind enough to pre-sort the letters into several categories . This helps me when I just have a moment to scan my mail. There are my regular letters, notifications from social media groups and the so-called promoted mail. ‘Course occasionally my person mail does get bundled with my social media, and the promoted mail falls into the regular mail file.
But until recently I believed that was just an honest mistake; that my little Samsung had no ulterior motives behind the mail mix-ups. I mean, how paranoid would I have to be to believe that some of the ‘promoted’ mail had deliberately been placed in my real mail file. After all my OS isn’t perfect. It’s told me a few times, it’s just doing the best it can.
However, for some reason lately I’ve been getting a ton of spam and suggestions for internet sites. Most is sorted into the spam file, but, one does have to check that regularly to ensure that the invitation for drinks from George Clooney doesn’t get misplaced.
But while I believe the absolute best of my OS, apparently, it doesn’t have the same high opinion of me. Apparently my OS thinks I’m a desperate single. Why else the constant barrage of pleas from cowboys dying to meet fellow single horse owners like me? Or fantastic Jewish men looking for their soul mate? Or even other fish from the sea. (Nevermind that I get seasick.)
I can even almost forgive the ads for the senior dating websites, even if they do offend me—who the hell are they calling a Senior? And what makes them think I’m looking for an old man? Everyone who knows me knows I aim young. But I digress.
No, my OS thinks I’m a tramp. Lately I’ve been inundated with messages from ‘married but lonely’. Or others whose mantra is ‘life is short; have an affair!’ Well, I’m here to say that I’m not that kind of girl. I mean I’m really not that kind of girl. I am not married and don’t have anybody to cheat on. So their whole pitch is kind of flawed. I thought my OS knew me better than that.
I was wrong. I have also received an onslaught of information regarding high school degrees by mail. Initially this had me worried, was it possible that my OS knew something I didn’t, and that my degree from many moons ago was falsified? I checked with my high school, who were delighted to hear from graduates like me, and suggested I make a donation to the building fund.
Obviously Sammy has no respect for my education because it next had questioned the validity of my college degree. According to OS, exceedingly reputable organizations will accept me no questions asked and will rectify the situation. Again, I checked with my alma mater. They too assured me that the sheepskin I owned was for real. But they were also more than willing to take a nice donation if I felt up to the task.
Having straightened that out, OS is extremely concerned—and confused—with my earning potential. It implores me daily to enter sweepstakes for millions—or buy a raffle ticket for my dream home. But it isn’t sure I can pay to enter, so it helpfully suggests that I make extra dollars from the comfort of my own home stuffing envelopes or doing data entry.
I’m going to be really good at that, OS believes, and has even given me several ways to access helpful workers willing to toil for well under the minimum wage. I thought that was illegal, but I trust that my OS would never point me in a direction that would endanger our relationship—I understand that phones are not allowed in prison.
I could live with all of this. And I truly wanted to believe that since I took the time to understand my OS’ wants and desires, the intricacies of its apps and oddities of its software, eventually it would really come to know me as we
That ended today. OS pleaded with me not once, not twice, but three times to skip grocery shopping (something I’d be happy to do) by signing up with Omaha Steaks. Oh, OS break my heart. You don’t know me, a 20 year vegetarian, at all.
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