All great relationships mirror that of a whirlwind romance. At first, it feels as if you might have a crush. You think, “Hey, this person is cool. Maybe if we’re friends some if it will rub off on me.” You exchange numbers. Text a few times. Next thing you know, you’re splitting fries at Jo’s thinking I have been so lost…until now.
I’d say new roomie relationships mirror this timeline. You admire them. You put yourself out there. Next thing you know, you’re saying “Do you want me to turn off the light? Because I like totally can. I know how to turn it off and like, I don’t want it to bother you at all. PLEASE just tell me if you want it off (so you don’t silently resent me).”
You’re overly courteous because, after all, this is the person that has the power to cut your hair off in the middle of the night (this thought is the result of those haunting Sour Patch Kids commercials in which the little guys ruin your life and then you have to forgive them because ultimately you gonna eat ‘em). In practice, this courtesy just means being a decent human. So, the other day when I heard my roommate ponder the weather, I thought I’d help her out, and so I said to her that it was going to be raini-
“HEY GOOGLE! What’s the weather?”
I froze. What the—had I been going about my life completely unaware that we had a third roommate? The answer was yes. My roommate’s Google Home had been cleverly (though unintentionally) concealed by a coffee machine and some wine glasses. She left the room and I approached the machine. I thought, “Helloooo, Google… Or should I say, FBI.”
I imagined Edward Snowden shaking his head. Here was the NSA in my own room. I didn’t know how to react, but then I thought, “I guess this thing is here to stay.” I corrected myself, “I guess this beautifully designed piece of technology is here to improve my life.” I didn’t know if it could already read my thoughts. And so, I did what any normal person would do and never mentioned my uneasiness about the device and instead began courting roomie #3.
I’ve tested a number of names on Google Home, including Google Casa, Google Crash Pad, Google What is the meaning of home anyways?, and my personal favorite: Google Crib. I decided that I would be courteous towards Google (and the U.S. Government, Silicon Valley, and all telecommunications companies) like I would towards any other new roomie. I thought of the worst things I could do and immediately ruled them out. I swore to never ask it to play Nickelback, The Chainsmokers, or Shania Twain’s new album. I told it I wouldn’t eat Indian food in the room if it didn’t like the smell. And lastly, I said the Pledge of Allegiance forty times.
So far, Google Home has been a solid roommate, though sometimes I can’t tell if it’s being passive aggressive. She can be intimidating because she kind of sounds like a thirty-year-old woman with a badass career who doesn’t have the patience to deal with me talking to myself about if I have the energy to get a yogurt from the Ivy Room, but I just take her judgement as motivation. I now strive to have a database, calendar, and music library in my head at all times, just like her.
If we were better friends, which isn’t out of the realm of future possibilities, I’d like to think that’d we have some girl talk. Maybe she’d clue me into when her birthday is so I could get her a Blue Room muffin. Maybe she’d give me hot details about her hook-ups or tell me if she thinks Mark Zuckerberg is hot. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d tell me just me if the government really could see me naked when I get out of the shower through the little camera on my laptop.
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