I was born with gorilla fingers. And by that I mean big fingers, not fingers covered in fur.
Of course, the hands to which these massive digits were attached to were also oversized and for some reason, this became a source of pride for me. I seemed to be always daring other kids to go palm to palm with me so I could gloat about my obvious genetic superiority.
But my large-fingers-inspired joy didn’t last forever as the time arrived for me to learn how to play guitar. I couldn’t squeeze four fingers onto the narrow fretboard of a normal steel-stringed guitar and so had to switch to a classical guitar which has a wider neck.
Nevertheless, things went along pretty well for the next few decades until I came into the possession of a smartphone. My hippo hands came back to haunt me when trying to operate this fanciest of gizmos, especially when trying to send text messages. It would take me 15 minutes to ask John how he was doing.
“Hater Jonne. How shit gohnn?”
This went on for years. And several years, I’m pretty sure, have been removed from my lifespan because of the frustration.
My phone allows me to dictate my text messages and every once in a while, I turn on that feature and give it a try. Today that once in a while arrived again. Things started off well, my first few words being laid down almost flawlessly.
Then it began to go badly off the rails and as my go-to reaction in situations such as these is to freak out and start yelling like an angry auctioneer, I did exactly that with my little phone. As I screamed, I watched the phone screen. It recorded my meltdown pretty well, even going with “geez” when the going got too tough.
There was someone else in the room and I gave her a running commentary.
“What the hell?” typed my phone. “This crazy thing is typing everything I say. Crap. Well that’s useless. Geez.” This is just a small sampling of my diatribe.
Finally, I couldn’t take any more.
“Piss off,” I told my phone. It typed that out perfectly, “Piss off.” It also had a perfect record when I told it to piss right off.
So, I had lots of deleting to do. I shut off the microphone and went back to using my panther-sized paws. They deliver a lot less profanity, on an average day.
But on reflection, I am proud of my little phone. Any modern device that will tell itself to piss off is my new best friend.
©2021 Jim Hagarty
