Your Friendly Neighborhood Autocorrect

So, autocorrect.  I have a solid Love/Hate relationship with autocorrect.  I think it may be one of the most useful/useless tools of our modern electronic devices that allow typing.  By way of evidence, I give you Exhibit A:

Let’s evaluate this.  On the one hand, Autocorrect, which technically has no sense of humor because it is non-sentient and all, is actually suggesting I correct “cjoxlate” to the greatly improved “cjomlate.”  Please make note of this incident and file it away for future reference to an upcoming blog post titled, “2001 is truly here and HAL is real and running everything.  What other excuse could there be for Trump,” as evidence that Autocorrect may not be as non-sentient as we would like to think, along with other bits of our digital tools.  Seriously, ask anyone about their experiences when their phone has suggested ads and posts relating to conversations they have just had IRL while their phone was in their pocket.  The droids are coming, people. 

But for now, the Autocorrect Droid is still suggesting that I swap one nonsense word for an equally garbled nonsense word.  Sooo helpful, AC. Methinks, though, that I am being a bit too quick to bite the digital hand that is helping me.  AC DID pick up cjoxlate as a misspelled word.  I just garbled it so badly it didn’t know what to do with it.  “Sheesh what did she type now?  I mean I know I’m programmed by MIT supergeniuses and can recognize 2,657 different languages and dialects, but there’s only so much a megacomputer program can do!” 

So, touché, AC.  You make a fair point. Yes, your suggested correction was crap, but so was the input I provided.  It got me thinking, though.  What if Autocorrect was programmed to correct our real lives, not just our crappy typing? 

(Wavy scene transition and “Woo-woo” music clip) 

Scene: Saturday evening, on the stoop of a modest apartment.  Two 20-somethings walk up to the front door and stop. 

Dude, still surrounded by the haze of cologne he bathed in before the date and wearing his only clean button up and jeans: 

So, this is where you live? 

Chica, still bearing the vestiges of the makeover her roomies imposed on her before departing on the date: 

Ah, yep.  This is the place. 

Autocorrect:  

That should be, “Yes, this is the correct location.” 

Chica, sighing and closing her eyes in resignation: 

Ok, sure. 

Autocorrect:  

Do you confirm this correction? 

Dude, staring at Autocorrect:   

What? 

Autocorrect: 

This is not a complete sentence.  Please stand still while I draw a blue wavy line around your feet. 

Dude:  

Do NOT draw on my shoes! 

Chica, waving off AC: 

It’s ok, I understood what he meant!   

Autocorrect (with a hint of stiffness, getting down on all fours with a large stick of blue chalk):  

The wavy lines will remain until corrections are made. 

Dude:  

Fine!  I meant to say, “what is going on here?” 

Autocorrect:   

I suppose that will suffice.  Please continue your discourse. 

Chica, side-eyeing AC:  

So, yes, this is my apartment. 

Dude:  

              Looks pretty nice.  How long have you lived h . . . 

Autocorrect:  

RED WAVY LINES! RED WAVY LINES!  STRANGER DANGER! PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION. 

Chica:   

Chill!  He’s not a stranger, I just went on a date with him! 

Autocorrect, leaning towards Chica and whispering loudly in her ear:   

Why is he asking about your living arrangements?  Does he have a criminal record?  Did you ask for references?  Did you properly vet him on the national register of sex offenders?  

Dude:   

I am NOT a Sex Offender! 

(Elderly couple approaching on the sidewalk give Dude the Rascally Varmint Stare and cross to the other side of the street.) 

Dude, glaring at AC:   

Thanks. 

Autocorrect, fully serious:   

I exist to serve you. 

Chica:  

Listen, Autocorrect, can you just take a break for a bit so we can have a conversation? 

Autocorrect, with an offended sniff: 

Fine.  Take your life your own hands.  Don’t mind me, just trying to save you from sex offenders. 

Chica:  

There are no sex offenders here! 

(Elderly couple on other side of street begin scurrying away) 

Dude:   

You know, I have to be at work early tomorrow.  I, uh, had a great time.  I’ll call you. 

(Walks away quickly.) 

Chica, watching her date walk away like his shorts are about to catch fire: 

Well, you did it again, Autocorrect.  What can I say? 

Autocorrect, back turned to Chica: 

You should apologize. 

Chica, outraged: 

Apologize?! You just ran off my seventh first date this month!  I haven’t made it to a second date since I updated your program! 

Autocorrect, with grave majesty: 

You are most welcome. 

Chica:  

I WASN’T THANKING YOU! 

Autocorrect: 

Someday you will.  Just keep an eye on the sex offender registry.  I’m certain one of them is bound to show up. 

Chica, opening her front door and slamming it in Autocorrect’s face: 

GO AWAY! 

Autocorrect, running and calling after elderly couple: 

Excuse me, I believe I just heard you use the phrase “hoodlum” and this reference is unclear to me.  Please halt while I draw a blue wavy line . . .  

So, thinking about it, random gobbledygook corrections aren’t so bad, considering what Autocorrect could be.  Or maybe I should just learn how to type and spell.   

And for the record, the word I was attempting to type was CHOCOLATE.  Honestly, AC should have gotten this if it knew me AT ALL.  Sniff.