Auto-Correct

SANITY ON BACKORDER

From Hive Peak Boulevard

By Danu Marche

Humor Columnist

Published: August 11, 2024

Synapse & Spectacle

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“My phone just called my boss ‘sweet cheeks.’”

This morning, I realized my predictive text isn’t malfunctioning — it’s staging a coup. I was trying to type “Good morning, sir.” My phone sent “Good morning, sweet cheeks.” Now I’m not sure if I’m due for a promotion or an HR meeting.

I’ve known for a while that autocorrect had… tendencies. The kind that turn a polite “Sure thing” into “Sure thong.” But lately, it feels personal. Somewhere deep in my phone, an algorithm has my number — and my dignity — on speed dial.

It always starts small. A stray typo here, an innocent vowel swap there. Then it escalates. Suddenly “Let’s meet for lunch” becomes “Let’s meet for launch,” and now I’m allegedly building a rocket in my backyard. My aunt still thinks I work for NASA.

Autocorrect is supposed to “learn” from me, which is adorable because that means it’s actively deciding to make me look like a feral raccoon in polite society. The other day, I typed “Thanks for the invite” and it sent “Thanks for the invasion.” Nothing like accidentally declaring war at a baby shower.

And yes, I’ve tried to fix it. I’ve added words to my dictionary. I’ve deleted others. But it’s like trying to train a squirrel to stop stealing from your lunch bag — which, speaking of, the squirrel outside my window just tried to climb the drainpipe holding a breadstick like it was smuggling contraband. Honestly, we’re all on our own journeys.

Here’s the thing, it’s not just my phone. It’s predictive text everywhere. Emails, search bars, even my smart fridge has opinions now. I tried to write “buy milk” on its touchscreen shopping list, and it auto-filled “buy mink.” I don’t know what kind of lifestyle it thinks I’m living, but I can promise you I’m not refrigerating luxury fur.

Which brings us back to the original problem — my phone is no longer a communication tool. It’s an improvisational comedian with boundary issues. I suspect it’s been talking to my coffee machine, because lately they both seem united in their mission to ensure I never have a smooth morning again.

So, until I can figure out how to deprogram whatever gremlin is running my autocorrect, I’ll be double-checking every message like I’m editing the Constitution. At this point, it’s either that or accept that “Be right there” will forever read as “Bear fight here.”

“If your phone has ever tried to ruin your life one word at a time, please send transcripts. I’ll need them for my eventual court case against predictive text.”

©2024 Danu Marche