MtH weekly #3 Parenthetical

Digression Is The Lesser Part Of Candor

​I recently had an idea for something of a novelty item. A little pocket-sized box that could emit a fairly loud, obnoxious buzz, not unlike the horn used in large arenas to indicate the end of a period of hockey. With just the press of a button, you could use it to quickly bring attention to any obvious “bullshit” occurring in a conversation. Of course, this would make the operator the judge reducing the whole thing to opinion.
“In a perfect world,” I thought, “the box would interface with an iPhone or something like it and submit whatever had just been said to Google and Wikipedia to check facts. Then it could check inflection and tone using advanced voice recognition algorithms to determine attitude. Finally, pheromone detection to sense, like a dog, fear (in this case, of being exposed). Have the process take just a few microseconds and throw in a learning loop to get better and faster at recognizing the real load dumpers. Then it would no longer be a judgment call. Instead, it would objectively indicate that the speaker was full of shit. There could be no argument or debate.”
A cosmic portal must have opened because some of that perfect world (or so I thought) seeped out and mixed with my own. Then, while joking about it in a hotel bar after a show, two brothers, equal next-in-line heirs to a wealthy distillery dynasty, were eavesdropping from another table. Later, they approached me.
“We believe there’s a real need for a device like this. The technology already exists for those three functions you were describing. All that remains is to fit it into the box and write the code for the IOS app. We want to help.”
“You’re drunk.”
“No, rich.”
So we made a prototype. It was a little bulkier than I expected, but it did sort of fit in the inside pocket of my jacket. With it half-zipped, it looked like I was carrying a vodka traveler. And it rattled like a bottle of pills.
“Nobody’ll know the difference,” a family member commented sardonically. Did I mention we’re Irish?
Our first phase of Alpha testing consisted of a few simple statements like ‘my name isn’t Mike” and “beneath the crusty exterior, I’m a people person.” It buzzed, as we expected, to both statements but was it my imagination, or did it honk just a little louder and longer in response to the second one?
Too excited to follow recommended procedure, we rushed right into Alpha phase two: Testing within its intended environment. Now, when the idea was germinating, I wasn’t all that specific about when and where I would use it. Political speeches? Too easy. Discussions with management and agents? Same thing. Interviews with Humber College jazz musicians, maybe.
We settled for a chat with friends at the hotel bar after a show.
I was a little excited as I got ready for the second test and flicked on the box while still in my room. Then, heading for the door, I stopped at a mirror and ran a brush through my hair.
“Looking good,” I said in my best Freddie Prinze. The box buzzed a little.
As people got on the elevator on the way down, I would smile and nod to them, and there would be a faint buzz from the box. “WTF, it’s sensing that I’m insincere?” I thought, a little bit annoyed. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was learning me.
I’ll get to the point. After ten minutes of talking with the friends that I’d invited to the hotel for a drink, I couldn’t open my mouth without the damned thing buzzing. And it got louder and louder. Finally, in a frenzy, I reached inside my jacket pocket and yanked the battery out. The buzz turned into what sounded like a gasp, and then (you can’t make this stuff up, folks) I swear it farted. Maliciously. Loudly. With intent.
There’s a moral to this.
Anybody?