Siri Vs. Viktor

I keep trying to foster a healthy relationship between Siri, our passive-aggressive navigation system, and Viktor, our 33 foot long RV.

It’s not going well.

Viktor: Good morning, Siri. I need to go this next leg of the journey all on interstates, avoiding these small back roads, please.

Siri: Recalculating route.

Viktor: Wait, this takes me through four 1-lane, unpaved streets and across someone’s front lawn! Can we fix that?

Siri: You said you wanted the shortest route. Recalculating.

Viktor: OK, how about the fastest route instead?

Siri: Recalculating.

Viktor: (Surveying map.) Um, this takes me through the Holland Tunnel at rush hour, a ferry, under at least 2 low clearance bridges, a private road and a herd of migrating bison. That’s tough to do with my size and height.

Siri: Sigh. That is the fastest route. Recalculating.

Viktor: Do you have a setting that eliminates shortcuts, and just takes the most straight-forward way?

Siri: I’m sorry, but I’ll have to check the Internet for that.

Viktor: (Under his breath) That’s where I would start….

Siri: Recalculating.

Viktor: (Glancing over the third route.) Ok, this seems better to start, but it looks questionable at the end. Is there a way to fix just that part?

Siri: Oh don’t worry. I will secretly recalculate you periodically throughout your journey just to mess with your head and to prove to you that my knowledge is superior to your so-called “needs.” It’s like a survival skills test which you miserably fail.

Viktor: Wait! No! I have someone following us so we need to be on the same route!

Siri: It seems like you need more than a navigation system for this particular trip, Viktor. (Under breath) And life in general.

Viktor: You’re right about that much. Right now I’ll start with Jake from State Farm to help me get un-wedged from this Dunkin’ Donuts drive thru bypass that I know can’t be a real driving direction you gave me…

Siri: (Evil cackle.) Recalculating….

Just when you thought it was safe to answer your door during cookie season, my husband and I discuss sales strategy…

Him: What’s with the thousands of cardboard cases in the garage? Did you go to the wine store today?

Me: No. Duh, wine store day is Friday and it’s only Tuesday. No, they’re cookies.

Him: ?

Me: Girl Scout Cookies. I thought I told you, I’m Cookie Mom again this year.

Him: (Choking in shock.) Didn’t we just settle the lawsuit from the last time you were cookie mom?

Me: Statute of Limitations. Or something. And it’s Cookie Mom with a capital C.M.

Him: I call capital B.S. Isn’t this like your 4th or 5th time? And do we even still have a kid in Scouts?

Me: I re-signed her to a limited contract before the trade deadline. And it’s my 11th. Or something.

Him: And don’t you dislike this experience?

Me: Immensely. But I was nominated.

Him: (Scoffs.) By people who have never met you?

Me: Obviously. Nor did anyone read the coffee mug I was drinking that said, “World’s Worst Cookie Mom.”

Him: Maybe the Chardonnay you were day drinking out of said coffee mug should have also tipped them off.

Me: (Ignoring him.) It was a Sauvignon Blanc because I’m classy. (Pausing.) I’ve decided to take my sales approach in a different direction.

Him: By way of the insane asylum where I’ll be residing while you lament over spreadsheets and Pinterest?

Me: No, although if you want to see my epic pins on booth decorations at Kroger, that can be arranged. I was thinking of a more direct, aggressive sales perspective.

Him: What’s wrong with the passive-aggressive posts you’ve left on the neighborhood ListServ you’ve always relied on in the past?

Me: (Smiling sheepishly in recollection.) Ok, maybe I’ll save that tactic as well—I got an extra half dozen boxes from Mrs. Kravitz last year telling her they were an appropriate snack for the neighborhood pond fowl, Ron Swanson. (Shaking off the pleasant reverie.) But I was thinking about really embracing the project more. Going really big—flyers, billboards, sales incentives. A multi-level social media campaign. Really connecting with my inner Thin Mint.

Him: Why not your inner lemon cookie because you’re really starting out fairly sweet but I know you’ll be bitter in the end.

Me: (Gazing upon the endless sea of cookies beached in the garage.) Or you could just Do-Si-Do over to that blank order form and bring it to work and get the majority of sales from your coworkers while I get creative with all of the excess inventory I’ve overbought?

Him: (Sighing resignedly as we both knew it would end up in this vein from the beginning.)

Me: (Relieved.) Now hand me some more boxes of the shortbread. I’m breading some tilapia for Ron Swanson with it.

©2017 Tracey Henry

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