Beech Tree News Network

Last Tuesday, on the way to eastern Kentucky to see my stepmom, I started praying out loud for our safety during the trip.  Garey, who was driving, had forgotten his hearing aids.

               “Are you talking to me or to God?” he asked.  It was a legitimate question.  Garey is used to me praying out loud.  He also knows that if I see something along the way that I’ve never seen before or something that confuses me, I will start a conversation with myself about said thing. 

               For many years now, I have processed information out loud.  Growing up, I was rarely allowed to ask questions or give my opinion.  I lived in the silence of my thoughts.  I think that is the reason for the out-loud conversations I have with myself, as well as the out-loud conversations I have with God.

               Garey doesn’t talk out loud to himself much, not in my ear shot, anyway.  He does, however, carry on conversations with the cats.  Sometimes, when I’m in my BBC room, I will hear him in the kitchen, engaged in conversation with Brother cat, Sister cat, and Blackjack, the big black cat who showed up on our doorstep one Christmas.  He will comment on what they are doing or will ask them questions, then answer for them.  Sometimes, I think he’s on the phone with his sister, Charlotte, then he will tell Sister cat what a sweetie she is, and I will know he’s not talking to his sister.

               Even though I talk out loud to myself, I despise automated voices talking to me.  I don’t like Siri or Alexa or Meta or that new one Google has, that I can’t remember the name of.  I’m not sure if it’s the abruptness of a voice I’m not familiar with disrupting my thoughts, or if I have a basic distrust of AI or if I just want to find my own answers without the help of robot people.  (Maybe I watched too much Twilight Zone as a child.)  I don’t know what the issue is, but I don’t like it.

               The other thing I don’t like is the 15 daily reminders from Walgreens about my prescriptions.  If I didn’t know for a fact that George Orwell is dead, I would guess that Walgreens hired him to set up their series of prescription reminders.  Like Orwell’s Big Brother, you can’t get away from them.  They send texts, emails and voice mails to tell you that your prescription is ready to be refilled, that they are working on your prescription, and that your prescription is ready to be picked up. 

               Last week, I decided I’d had enough.  I marched my little self into the store and up to the pharmacy counter, where I told a pharmacy assistant, “Make it stop.  I don’t want any phone calls.  I don’t want a text.  I don’t want a voice mail.  I don’t even want skywriting, if that’s an option.  Just do what you have to do to make it stop.”

               She laughed.  “I completely understand,” she said.  “I work here, and I was getting daily reminders until I opted out.”  (Walgreens is a national company.  The employees have nothing to do with all the reminders.)

               “Well, opt me out,” I said.

               I waited as she went through the process of checking appropriate boxes on my account that opted me out of future contact with Walgreens.  The silence has truly been golden.  I need to send that girl a Christmas present.

               I understand that the future belongs to AI and all those powers that be.  I’ve always been a person who tries to keep up with social change, but if I’m left behind on this particular social change, so be it.  At least I will know who’s talking to me.