OPEN LETTERS
An Open Letter to Autocorrect
Kindly duck off!
Dear Autocorrect,
I am so ducking done with you.
For years you’ve made my life a living he’ll…no, hell! I want to say hell, dammit!! No one ends a sentence with he’ll. Other than right there, of course.
I’d like to say you have made a fool of me for the last time, if only I could figure out a way to disable you. But no, you are like a fifteen-year-old boy, perpetually turned on.
How has this really impacted your life, you ask? Well, how about I spell it out nice and slow so you don't change anything as I go?
Let’s start with the basics. You are a feature within a word processing app. You must be familiar with simple and frequently used words: the, and, of, my, and specifically to and go.
On a daily basis, I put these two words together. “I need to go to the store” “what time do you need to go?” and so forth. I really don't think I need further examples to help you understand how frequently these two words are side by side.
So why, dear autocorrect, do you always assume, that I am referring to Togo, the West African country? Literally every single time. And then you offer a cute little Togolese emoji flag for me to insert into my conversation about taking my daughter to dance class.
I live in Canada. My daughter does not dance in Togo.
My inability to hit the space key between these two tiny words, as I type at a furious rate, is no reason to start getting all international on me. You know very well what I meant. Just stop it.
Can we talk about names? I know this is hard for you because there are thousands of names, and then there are tons of different ways of spelling the same name. I get it, it’s confusing. BUT, there are people I write to and about regularly and you should have picked up on this by now.
For example, if I am texting a person named Michelle, and I have them in my contacts as Michelle, please assume that every time I type the name Michelle, that’s what I want it to say.
Now, I have used this name for a reason. Michelle is my sister. And I know how to spell her name because, well, she is my sister. We’ve known each other a while. At no point in our 40 plus years of both being alive have I ever called her Michael, or suggested she should spell her name with only one L.
You, however, do this on a daily basis.
You’re just lucky she’s the more even-keeled sister. If you were changing my name to Debbie, there'd be a lot more than a harshly-worded letter coming your way!
You also do it to Michelle’s husband, Jeremy. I generally call him Jer, but you call him JER. I mean, he's a great guy, but why so excited?
You’ve changed Scott to scoot, Heather to feather, Chandra to chandelier, and Geoff to golf. It’s really a matter of respect. And you clearly have none.
I like to swear. As you’ve been on my phone for some time now, you know this about me. But still, you try, valiantly I must say, to clean up my potty mouth. I’m telling you now, stop trying, it ain’t ducking happening.
If I want to vent about someone or something being a ducking piece of shot, I’m going to backspace the shot out of you and write out what I ducking want. And I’m going to be mad at you for making me do it so many ducking times.
Seriously, you are an intelligent machine. You can predict my work texts brilliantly; I can basically type one word and then hit the middle prompt key over and over and you've covered everything I need to say. But as soon as I get a little, um, colorful, you go rogue on me.
Yes, I fostered three ducks for 5 weeks last summer. But outside of those 5 weeks, I do not generally talk about ducks at all. In fact, you've been doing this to me for years and I only had the ducks this one time, so we know it’s not that.
How about you just assume I never want to talk about ducks and let me have all the fucks I want. If I ever want to talk about ducks for real, I will happily backspace. Good? Good.
While we’re at it, I would never call someone a butch or a cent.
So that’s it, that’s my beef with you. I mean, that's totally not it, but you obviously have issues, so I’m only dealing with the big stuff for now. You just don't seem to care that you make me look like an utter buffoon, and often to fairly important people.
Is it on me to check my writing? Maybe. But it’s on you too.
If I could just tell Michael…Michele…Michelle and JER that my ducking phone…y’know what? Forget it. You’re a ducking assassination and you're just doing it on porpoise now. I’m going Togo. Your author correct system is ducked and you're being a butch.
I hope you burn in hello.
Dab