Don't Call Me Dave

Actually, almost everybody in my life calls me Dave, not David. Notable exceptions are my mother, my bird, and (usually when she’s angry) my wife. Everyone else calls me Dave. It’s how I introduce myself to others, so I’m obviously fine with someone calling me that. However, “someone” does not include computers, or software. I do not introduce myself to them. At most, I authenticate my identity to them. I find casual familiarity from a non-sentient object or a computer program to be somewhat off-putting, to say the least.

I do not want to be greeted with an artificially cheerful “Hi Dave!” when I log into an application or a web site. I want my computers and software to be cold, calculating, distant. Completely inhuman. All business, all the time. When I validate my credentials, I want any acknowledgement (if there is any) to be something along the lines of “Currently logged in as (username).” Better yet, just a terse response only if I get the password wrong. A lack of notification about authentication failure is all that is necessary to know that I have successfully logged in.

My parents have a name for the GPS unit in their car because it – sorry, she – talks to them when giving directions. For my part, I do not ever want to hear a pre-programmed voice saying “You’ve got mail!” emanate from my computer: the “New Mail” indicator next to my Inbox is sufficient. Large numbers of people apparently enjoy this synthetic interaction, most noticeably with smartphone user interfaces programmed to speak – to the point that they even converse with the device (“Hey Cortana, nice misdial”, “I hope I never need 911, Siri, because you suck”). It seems to me that this kind of personalization of (or relationship with) an inanimate object is tantamount to making breakfast for a blow-up doll.

A computer is simply a tool, essentially no different than a microwave oven or a hammer. Do we really need a talking GPS? Can’t we just glance at it like any other dashboard indicator, like a speedometer? Or is that the road we’re on, the road to talking hammers and speedometers?

Hammer: “Nice swing, Dave! Your best yet! You really flushed that nail!”

Speedometer (screaming): “Holy shit Dave! You’re going way too fast! We’re all going to diiiiiiiieee!!!

Are we now that starved for human interaction that any kind of substitute, no matter how artificial, is something we crave?

Washing Machine: Hi Dave! You do realize that selecting Extra Rinse will use more water, thereby affecting your water bill? Please say “Extra Rinse” to confirm, “Regular” to-
Me: Extra rinse.
WM: I’m sorry, Dave, I didn’t quite get that. Please say “Extra Rinse” to-
Me: EXTRA RINSE
WM: I’m sorry, Dave, I didn’t quite get that. Let’s try again. Please say “Extra Rinse,” “Regular,” or “Cancel.”
Me: Fuck it, I’m not doing laundry. I’ll wear dirty clothes.
WM: I’m sorry, Dave, I didn’t quite get that. Let’s try again. You are now at the Main Menu. Please say-
Me: (kicks washing machine, walks out)
WM: I’m sorry, Dave, I didn’t quite get that.

One morning I will walk into my kitchen, only to be greeted by an appliance saying “Hi, Dave! Your toast is ready!” When that morning comes – and it will, my friend, probably sooner than you think – I am going to unplug my toaster pseudo-pal, walk into the bathroom and draw myself a bath. When the tub is sufficiently full, I am going to take my talking toastmaking unwanted would-be buddy, with its faux-friendly unrelenting perkiness (“Good morning Dave! I’ve burned your toast!”), plug it back in, and drop it right into the tub with me.

Or, I could just change my login name. But that would mean the machines have already won.