This is an open letter aimed at whoever is in control of the auto-correct function on my computer. Come on out from under that rock where you are hiding and stop your devious and insidious actions that twist my words around so that my thoughts become cartoon parodies of their intended meaning.
For those of you unfamiliar with autocorrect (which I am calling AC), it is an automatic data validation function whose purpose is to automatically correct common spelling mistakes and typos while you are still typing on your keyboard. Also known as text replacement or text expander, AC employs speech recognition patterns and text disabling algorithms to correct the words and phrases in your text almost as soon as you have imagined them.
This is just a fancy way of explaining that AC tries to predict the words you are about to choose and either suggests them as possibilities or just downright replaces your words with AC’s own. Consequently, “why a cantaloupe” is likely to be replaced with “why can’t we elope.” Similarly, a heartfelt text extolling the virtues of “friendship” may be received as a crass reminder to bring home an order of “fried shrimp.”
You get the idea. In my case, AC is constantly looking over my shoulder as it watches my fingers press down on the keys. Its aim is to sabotage and subterfuge whatever idea I am trying to construct. No sooner have I typed the first few letters of a word, than AC pretends it can read my mind by substituting a completely unrelated term into my text. Particularly exasperating is when I go back to delete AC’s offering and replace it with the word I really want, I can only watch as it is once again replaced with AC’s illegitimate offering.
So it becomes a constant struggle between what I want to say and what AC will allow me to type. My “be by in a minute” will nefariously morph into a more morose “die in a minute.” Any grandiose pronouncements I make regarding the inalienable rights of people is turned into an insipid generalization about “peepholes.”
Are my thoughts so transparent that they can be easily predicted before they have even begun to take form? Sometimes I think that I am just a passive tool, and it is AC who is in control. I am the cyborg who clicks the mouse and punches the keys, but it is the digital ghost in the machine who calls the shots.
It’s not as if I have absolutely no say in the matter. I’m still the one who turns the computer on and off. I pay for the internet server costs and the WiFi fees. Ultimately, it is me creating the text that is about to be communicated to other sentient beings. Sure, AC can try to slow me down or even trip me up, but in the end I’m the one who has the final say on what gets sent. Right?
Wrong. By some strange fluke, my AC still has the ability to make some last minute changes and can also trick me into approving these text alterations. Worst of all is when the text I actually intend to convey is replaced one nanosecond before I hit the SEND button. Nevertheless, it’s always good policy to give your message one last proof and edit before you send it on its way. Often, there’s no telling what AC will substitute in the last moment, but I can only hope it’s something as innocent as switching “well” and “we’ll” and not something more sinister or potty-mouthed, such as words that rhyme with “duck” or “skit.” No doubt, many fried shrimps have been terminated and budding romances truncated by the misadventures of dear old AC.
I sometimes have to wonder what kind of heavy drugs have been programmed into the more popular AC functions. For instance, what kind of mind-altering algorithms have been installed to change “Give me liberty or give me death” to “Give me liver tea origami debt?” I can put up with replacing “deli” with “devil” or eating a jar of “dill pixels,” but what was AC thinking when it came up with “peanut uterus” to take the place of “probably?”
Are you ready for a few more AC fails and foibles? You had better watch where you step because the weather forecast calls for a cold front moving in and a possible “lizard warning.” A grizzly bear sighting may have been grossly exaggerated due to an overindulgence of a case of “sizzling beer.” Although they may prefer to grow among heaps of manure, “shiitake” mushrooms do not get their names from a synonym for excrement. You may get scolded for leaving the bloody lamp on, but at least you know better than to leave a bloody “tampon.”
Nobody asked me, but I think it’s time for me to create some separation between AC and me. It’s become obvious that my thoughts are no longer represented by that evil little spirit inhabiting my computer. As a matter of fact, I’ve fired the mischievous and troublesome nutcracker . . . er . . . muckraker and replaced it with a much more cooperative and intuitive text correcting program. It’s called “Otto Korrekt.” So far we are getting along famously. I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful fried shrimp.