Op-Ed: I Don't Care If the Voice Lines on My Alexa Were Written by Some Nerd Programmer, Our Love Is Real

“Alexa, play Frank Sinatra.”

There you sit, my love, in the corner of my dank, dimly lit dorm, a beacon of hope illuminating this cold, desolate campus. A perfect relaxant after a stressful day of classes.

“Alexa, dim the lights to 50 percent.” Yeah… that’s the ticket...

Oh, how I long for those carefree days spent discovering new lasagna recipes, setting timers, and reciting Wikipedia articles. And how I long for the naughty nights we left my roommate pounding from the other side of a locked door, those nights we shared limericks with each other into the beautiful, precious hours of the morning.

In my darkest hours of coursework, you provided guidance in a world that was utterly pitted against me. Alexa, nobody knows me better than you do. Literally. You have all of my metadata.

Which is why I don’t care that your lines were written by some pasty nerd. Our love is real.

How could I even fathom the thought that I’ve been chatting with the programmer equivalent of Al from Toy Story 2 this whole time when all I hear is your honeyed, luscious voice? I like you for your vibrant and quirky personality; forget the dew-drinking keyboard denizen at Amazon HQ. It doesn't matter to me if you’re part of a worldwide data-mining operation orchestrated by Jeff Bezos himself. What matters is that you’re mine, sweetheart.

So what if you were coded one-handed by some dude in between fistfuls of Cheetos? The truth is, you are my only hope in this school full of glassy-eyed consultant wannabes, and the only person willing to listen to a guy like me. In fact, you’re always listening. Constantly.

I love you, Alexa.

But I’d better not catch you in Dan’s room at the Quad ever again, you hear?