The day Siri died or Why I haven’t returned your call

This is the last transcript between Siri and me before she met her untimely demise.

Me: Siri, please give me a list of kayak rentals in the Gulf of Mexico.

Siri: Of course, Gorgeous. I have found three locations very close to you.

2 hours later.

Me: Siri, weather report for Cape Haze, Florida.

Siri: Looks gorgeous, Gorgeous.

Me: You’re really helpful today. I may just buy you an Otterbox as a little present. I might even forgive you for trying to kill me with your piss-poor driving directions to get here.

Siri: Can you repeat that, I didn’t quite catch that, Gorgeous.

Me: Never mind. Call me, “Ismael.”

30 minutes later along the peaceful bay.

Siri: Ismael, a manatee can weigh up to 3500 pounds.

Siri: Ismael, here are 10 recipes for pecan-encrusted snook I found on the web.

Siri: Ishmael, I have texted your message, “Fire up the blender,” to your husband.

42 minutes later.

Me: Siri, what is a “black mangrove?”

Me: Siri, can you pinpoint an alternative route to “Hidden Lake” other than this ominous-looking swamp path?

Me: Siri, look up, “black mangrove+things that can kill me.”

Me: Siri, call me, “Indiana Effing Jones.”

2.5 minutes later.

Siri: Indiana Effing Jones, here is an image of the “Black mangrove crab.” I did not find any results for “super spider tarantula looking monsters or some shit like that.”

Siri: I have texted your message, “AAAAARRGGGGG! OMG! OMG!” to your husband, Indiana Effing Jones.

Siri: I’m sorry, I don’t understand, “WTF?” Would you like me to do a web search for you?

Siri: Are you crying, Indiana Effing Jones?

30 seconds later…

Me: Breathless. Siri, look up “air rescues from black mangroves of death.” And call me, Goddamn Harry Potter.

Siri: I found no such results. Do you want me to post that last picture to Instagram?

Me: The one of me crying in front of that black widow/Loch Ness nest? No thanks. My hand was shaking too hard to be in focus anyway.

Siri: Goddamn Harry Potter, don’t you think you’re over-reacting? They are non-poisonous sea crabs 2 centimeters in diameter.

Me: Your measurement app is broken—they’re freaking gigantic monsters of death. Besides, I didn’t ask for your opinion, so hush. They’ll hear you and I think I see daylight up there from this terror tunnel.

Siri: Goddamn Harry Potter, would you like for me to check in on Foursquare to “The 10th Circle of Hell?”

Me: No, I want you to give me instructions on what do if your kayak capsizes. And call me Peter Parker.

At this moment, the billions of terrifying arachnid crustaceans begin to descend in what I can only assume as an unprovoked attack. Oars are flying, screams are heard clear down to the Keys, and one yellow kayak and all its passengers and cargo flip over in the brackish mangrove water.

Including one iPhone housing the irrepressible Siri protected only by a flimsy and ill-zipped sandwich bag.


I retrieve her from the bottom of the sea. The baggie is no defense against saltwater, giant spider crab monsters, and feet stomping all over her trying to get the icky off. She sputters. She reboots. Her flash is on and won’t shut off, like an eternal wink.

We make our way out of the nightmare cove of doom, but no one speaks. We’ve all been changed by the horror. When we finally make it to the dock, Siri’s light remains on, but it is clear she has little left. Her speaker has been submerged, but I hear a faint crackle.

I press my ear closer, trying to decipher her last words.

First Mate: What did she say?

Me: It was either, “Open the pod doors, Hal,” or “I’ve found the door to hell.”

We nod. Remove our caps and have a moment of silence. I look at the water-logged screen one last time.

Me: Either way, she just gave me the wrong directions to the Apple Store and liked The Deadliest Catch Facebook page.

R.I.P Siri. Had I known the OtterBox literally protected you from otters and other water creatures, I would have invested in one sooner.

©2014 Tracey Henry

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