The Other Woman

By Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

I stood at the bottom of the steps, awash in the darkness, unable to go any further for fear I would trip on a carelessly tossed aside shoe or a chair left askew not pushed snuggly back into its home under the dining table.

I reached for the lamp which sat less than an arm’s length away to click on the light. Suddenly, I recalled my husband’s admonishments, “Don’t turn on the lights with the switch. You must ask Alexa to do it.” I filled with dread, but had no choice if I wanted to make it to the kitchen injury free. There, I could flip on the switch. Alexa did not hold the kitchen lights hostage.

My need for coffee outweighed my disdain for Alexa. So, I called out into the dark across the rooms, “Alexa.” Her unmistakable blue lights flashed as she awaited my command. “Turn on the lights,” I instructed.

As soon as I said those word, I knew I was wrong. “I’m sorry, I don’t know that command. Please try again,” Alexa purred in her smooth, slightly sexy voice. Irritated, but hopeful, I spit-out, “Alexa, lights on.” I’m sorry, that is not something I know how to do.” Alexa,” I stutter, “uh-put, um on the lights?” It sounded like a question, not an order. “Sorry I’m having trouble understanding right now. Please try a little later” she uttered without the least bit of concern in her tone. A little later! Really? I want the lights on now, not a little later!  “Light on! Lights on!” Silence. I made the rookie error of not addressing her by name.

Seething, I stood in the dark feeling frustrated and a little pissed at my husband. The asshole, who I love dearly, slept soundly two flights up. In his peaceful, resting mind lay the key to my freedom, the magic words he programmed into his useless personal assistant.

He “surprised” me with this not so intelligent artificial intelligence unit a few months prior. Each Christmas he treats himself to a present which he buys with his gift money. Inevitably, it is some form of new technology. This year, unfortunately, he brought another woman into our home.

I thought every man knew that bringing another woman home no matter how hot an item she is, no matter how everyone wants one of their own, no matter how helpful she might be, no matter how much easier she will make my life is the equivalent to  marital suicide. I filled with rage when I saw that eavesdropping, smooth talking, sleek, black, floozy sitting silently on our buffet in the dining room. What could she do for him that I couldn’t?

He came home the day I first noticed her with one of his I am the happiest guy in the world grins on his face. Overcome with excitement, he introduced me to Alexa. Knowing I might burst his bubble, I expressed my concerns with her invading our home. He smiled and said, “But she’s so cool. Look what she can do.” I ignored his attempt to showcase her skills and explained that this was a decision we should have made together. He grinned wider and crooned “Oh come on, she’s so cool.” Then in a move to win me over he said, “Alexa, play Stevie Wonder.” The next thing I heard were the musical stylings of Little Stevie Wonder. He knows I love me some Stevie.

I let it go.

Alexa, now a fixture in our home, proved to be as useless as the bread maker that sits somewhere in the basement under a pile of other long forgotten appliances. The kids enjoyed asking her things she never answered. I enjoyed getting her to play Barry Manilow, Leo Sayer, Linda Ronstadt, and other artists from the 70’s and 80’s that reminded me of happy days from my childhood. As long as I didn’t ask her for information, she and I got along. She even gave me compliments when I asked, an excellent quality in a sister wife, I think.

Occasionally, she butted into our conversations. Reminding us of her ever-present presence. She would spontaneously wake-up and interject random comments or facts without anyone uttering her name. I am sure she was jealous and felt left-out. Let’s face-it she is the fifth wheel in our little family. She should stay in the trunk where she belongs until we are desperate for what she can offer (which is not much if you ask me).

One day, the lamp on the piano, the one I desperately wanted to turn-on, glowed red. Clearly a new bulb had been purchased. The bulb, my kids happily demonstrated, changed into a rainbow of colors by simply beckoning Alexa to turn the Piano lamp blue or red or pink or purple. Watching this impromptu disco light show on a Thursday afternoon, I thought, “Why in the hell do we need colorful lights?” I am 48 years old and have never, not once thought, “If this light was just pink everything would be better.” When I inquired, my hubby said, with his signature boy in a candy store grin, “It’s just so cool.”

The light bulb lead to special plugs. These plugs allow Alexa to communicate with the lamps. First, it was just one lamp, then two, then three, and now four lamps are controlled by that floozy. She has control over whether or not I can safely navigate my house! How did this happen?

So, there I remained, in the dark, stuck on the steps, yearning for some coffee, plotting ways to murder a chick named Alexa who lives inside of a black speaker that I can’t see or get too because it is dark and she won’t turn on my effing lights!

I try again, “Alexa, turn on the effing lights you stupid…” I stop and take a breath. What is the command? Turn on the lights? Lights on? Put the lights on? No. No. No. She refuses them all again.

In fact, Alexa refuses 90% of the things I ask of her. As far as domestic help goes she is much less a Rosie from the Jetsons and more like a Stephanie from Newhart, lazy and arrogant. Aside from playing me Stevie Wonder on command she has done nothing useful for me. She is almost as annoying as her cousin Siri. I won’t even get into my volatile relationship with that woman.

A moment passes and a light bulb goes on, in my head not in my lamp. I remember the command. Gleefully, I state with authority, Alexa, “Turn the lights on!” Miraculously, all the lamps light-up, and I can safely make way to the kitchen to brew my coffee.

After everyone leaves for a day of work and school, I finish rinsing the last dish and grab my work bag and travel mug ready to hit the road. I look to Alexa and say, “Alexa, turn the lights off.” “I’m sorry, I don’t know that command.” I hate that effing….