“Alexa, Why Do I Make Bad Decisions?”

This first appeared in The Nashville Graphic
By Michael K. Brantley

Sometimes, I get these great ideas. I follow through, make some people happy and get a real sense of accomplishment.

Other times, I get what I THINK are great ideas. They end up blowing up in my face, costing me money or contributing to an overall decline in my mental stability.

I seem to be on a run of the latter, and this can be no better illustrated than the purchase of one particular child’s Christmas present.

My 11-year-old had a couple of “experiences” in the homes of relatives and friends who owned a product made by Amazon called an Echo or Echo Dot. Most people call these things “Alexa,” the name given to the voice on the device. You know, like “Siri” on the Apple line of products.

Lowell discreetly mentioned that he would like one of these devices. If you know or have ever been around Lowell, you know “discreet” means talking about it incessantly, writing on various lists, and putting it in my Amazon cart whenever there was a promotion. The boy is as subtle as a 1980s professional wrestler.

My wife and I agreed together this would be a great idea.

And by agreed, I mean Kristi told me that it was one of the worst ideas she’d ever heard me mention, and then listed some of what she considered to be my worst ideas, and advised arming Lowell with an Alexa was worse and also possibly a threat to national security.

So I put the idea aside.

I’m one of those people who makes heavy use of the “Save for Later” option on the Amazon cart, and then I watch that thing like a New York Stock Exchange ticker. It is crazy how often prices change and swing, and great deals can be had.

As we all know, getting the best deal possible is the true sign of an American Patriot.

Sure enough, one day as Christmas neared, I got an email alert that the Echo dot had dropped from $29 to $19. These specials happen for a limited time only, and usually only occur about 340 days a year, so I thought I should jump on it.

Being the considerate husband that I am, and recalling some of the threats made against me,  I decided I’d double check with Kristi before ordering.

As luck would have it, on that very day, a social media memory had popped up on Kristi’s feed of Lowell holding and cuddling a chicken and grinning from ear to ear. He was probably six.

Kristi’s heart softened, but she also told me that no matter what happened, I couldn’t give Alexa away one day and tell Lowell she’d gone to live out in the country with another family.

Perhaps I need to pause here and give a little backstory on Lowell. His likes and tastes are not what most would classify as “typical.” His hobbies include, but are not limited to, bluegrass music, strong coffee, history, inventing, and going to the terror of his siblings and parents.

When he was much younger, he took apart an old remote controlled car and an old cellphone and made a portable, Nixonesque listening device to bug rooms. I came home one day to what appeared to be a cornstarch bomb debris field that had something to do with making homemade stress balls (yes, rich irony). He and his brother once made a list of items that sounded suspiciously like the materials for a still, after I’d fallen asleep on the couch one afternoon and awoke to them binge-watching “Moonshiners.”

Things were fine early on Christmas Day. He was elated when he opened the box and had Alexa up and running within minutes. He was asking questions about the weather and getting information on a variety of topics. He asked for jokes and got them.

However, I realized immediately my first miscalculation: I had felt this device would be connected in his room, not the living room.

After lunch, Alexa apparently misunderstood a command, or became judgmental, because she and Lowell got into an argument. That’s right, that thing will argue, although I never saw that in the item description.

That was resolved, but later, there was some name-calling and threats. By both of them.

By suppertime on Christmas Day, at least three people had emailed me links about how Alexa can listen to your conversations and record them and send them to people or places, or something like that.

You can make lists and reminders, but frankly I’m afraid to check that. [Alexa, can possums live inside? Alexa, remind me to start the Plan.]

Apparently, Holly, Lowell’s sister, hacked the settings and changed Lowell’s name for a couple of hours. That was not pretty.

I’m not proud to say that by December 27, I had Googled “How to make Alexa disappear and make it look like an accident” and also “Does Alexa have a self destruct button?”

2019 promises to be interesting.