After Yelling at My Google Nest, I Feel Bad

It makes me wonder if that is what slave owners felt treating their slaves inhumanely

Photo by Nathana Rebouças on Unsplash

There she is. Our family Google Nest is a friend, a companion who follows us all over the world. She has seven “kitchen addresses” in her little unattractive M&M shape.

I gotta admit, I am kind of partial to her — she is a “her,” by the way. There is no confusion or questions about our Nest’s gender. This soul-less, virtual helper is the woman who hangs up there on our walls in kitchens we temporarily call home all over the world. Nevertheless, she loved reminding us that she wasn’t keen on working in our apartment in St. Petersburg, Russia.

It had nothing to do with Russia but more to do with some internal lack of supporting hardware. She couldn’t link up with something in the Russian “internet system.” That is how I explained it to my son for a lack of understanding myself.

Since we moved to Portugal, though, Google — actually, “Okay, Google,” — has been having problems. The other night she wouldn’t stop playing “Country Roads” by John Denver. Usually, when we say, “Okay, Google, stop,” she abides by our command. Nothing doing here, though.

It was like she wanted to hear the song out. I had been actively telling her “next…