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I DON'T THINK SO

First of all, I must tell you I am the archetypal computer geek.  If you looked in the dictionary under “Geek, Computer (also known as a Nerd)” there would be a picture of me.

I tick all the boxes - male, under thirty, dodgy haircut, specs and, no, before you ask (because everyone does) I don’t currently have a girlfriend.  In my defence, I am also a journalist with a technology column in one of the quality Sunday papers so at least I get paid for being a geek.

It’s an ideal job because I get my hot little hands on all the new kit before Joe Public does and often the computer companies use us journalists as a test-bed for some of their more outrageous inventions.

That was how Gloria came into my life.  Don’t look at me like that!  She named herself!  Ahem, sorry, it named itself.

I’d agreed to test the new prototype personal computer from Futura Industries.  They’d been striving to make computers more user-friendly and thought I might like to see their latest attempt.

As usual I opened the box like a kid on Christmas Day and spent the next six hours happily connecting input leads and downloading engineering updates from Futura’s own research and development technicians.  Who needs a girlfriend, eh?!

This computer promised to be the personal assistant you always dreamed of, although I can’t say P.A.s figure a lot in my dreams.  Those usually involve dragons and fierce blonde women in armour and…well, never mind that now.  This computer was designed to second-guess your every whim and automatically correct your correspondence for grammar and spelling.  OK so far but what got me really excited was that this computer is voice-activated, with a gloriously sexy, husky female voice.

“Good afternoon.  Please call me Gloria.  What may I call you?” she rasped, sexily.  I’m sure she was fluttering virtual eyelashes somewhere in her hard drive.

“Um…Kev..”  I stopped myself “Call me Rock.” I corrected.

“Hello Spock” she crooned.

“No!  Correction!  My name is Rock!” I yelled into the little grill that was its super-sensitive microphone, hoping my neighbours were all out.

“Hello Rock.  How may I assist you?”

I relaxed.  My first task was to write an email to my bank manager complaining about the sum of £6.40 that had been mistakenly taken out of my account as interest and was, even now I was sure, being used in their office tea kitty.

“Dear Sir,” I dictated, leaning back in my chair just like I’d seen executives on TV do and just managing not to topple out the open window behind me. “I would like to protest most strongly about the corporate theft of…”

“I don’t think so, Rock” Gloria’s voice cut across my thoughts, stunning me into silence.  “Theft is a strong word and could be actionable.  I shall put something less contentious.”

“Yeah, OK.  Whatever.”  A computer that answered back?

I stammered on “….£6.40.  I’ve spoken to your staff innumerable times about this and found them surly and unhelpful in the extreme.  It is a shame only morons work for your company...

 “I don’t think so Rock” Gloria’s calm voice stopped me again.  “Moron is a word used to insult and could be considered libellous.”

“Oh put what you damn well like!  Just send it!” I shouted, realising too late my mistake.  The screen minimised and returned with my wallpaper picture of an arty close-up view of a motherboard.  Gloria spoke again “Your email has been sent using stock phrases considered suitable to the meaning you required.” Fighting a sudden dread, I took a deep breath.  “Read back to me what I sent.”

“Dear Sir, I am writing about the gift of £6.40 I have made to your company to help instruct your employees in good customer relations and intelligence issues.  Yours faithfully, Rock.”

Not surprisingly, I didn’t switch Gloria on much after that.  Oh, occasionally we’d play the odd game of solitaire together but she always won.  I also managed to get pasta into the microphone grille when I sneezed during lunch.  I wrote up my rather unflattering review of this so-called computer of the future and forgot all about her.  Besides, I’d met a rather sweet girl who jogged past my window every day and who had taken to stopping for a chat and a power stretch there.  We’d got as far as me admiring her space-age running shoes which, she informed me, were called “Kickers”, which is a lot further than I’ve got with a girl for a while.

Then one day my street suffered a major power cut.  None of my equipment worked.  I was cut off from everyone and I didn’t like the feeling at all.  Just then I remembered that one of the major selling points of Gloria was that she had a powerful battery back-up that would enable normal work to continue at least for a couple of hours.  I powered her up again.

“Hello Rock” she crooned “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Um, no, I’ve been…ill” I replied haltingly, the nonsense of lying to a computer not lost on me.  “Can you read me my emails?”

Amongst the ones she read in her silky dark brown voice was one from Katy, the girl with the running shoes, asking me out for dinner.

“Reply to Katy.” I commanded “Dear Katy, I would love to meet you for dinner.  How about Mr Cho’s at 7?  By the way, I loved your Kickers – are you bringing them with you? Love Rock” (Well, I had an image to keep up now, didn’t I?) “Send it.”

“Rock, I’m having trouble hearing you clearly but I have sent the words I heard.  Please check my microphone driver.”  Too late I remembered the pasta and again had that feeling of panic.  “Read it back”

“Dear Katy” began Gloria “I would love to beat you as a sinner.  How about your sister though?  What heaven! By the way, I love your knickers, are you bringing them with you? Love Spock.”

I dropped my head on my arms and closed my eyes as the red-hot wash of embarrassment swept over me.  Then I leapt up and began assembling boxes and coiling cables as I dismantled Gloria for good.

“Pulling that lead will mean you will lose all the benefits of your virtual PA, Rock” she whispered seductively.

“I don’t think so” I muttered as I wrenched out the cable.