My apartment is haunted. Disembodied voices randomly echo off the egg-shell white walls of my humble abode, playing Taylor Swift and trying to get my attention with bright flashing lights. It’s almost as scary as forgetting my phone at home and having to actually interact with the real world.
OK, nothing is that scary, and my place isn’t really haunted. But if it was, it would help to explain the sheer number of times my Amazon
At this point, I’d almost rather have a spectral child asking me to play with him or her forever and ever than have to tell Siri, Alexa or Assistant to shut up, again. Actually, I take that back. I never want a ghost kid haunting me. They’re so needy.
Either way, I’m not the only person who is experiencing these kinds of accidental activations. Search the web for anything having to do with “
You can do the same search for Google Home and get similar results. Apple’s HomePod doesn’t return as many results, but it’s also been on the market for only about a month, less time than Amazon’s and Google’s assistants, so fewer people likely own it at this point.
The issue here is that my three digital assistants are misinterpreting portions of my everyday conversations as their individual activation phrases. To be clear, I still use these three assistants on a daily basis. I ask them to play music, ask them for a weather and traffic update, yell obscene things at them to see how they’ll reply and ask inane questions like how to mince garlic.
I also find these occasional interruptions pretty funny when they happen mid conversation with someone. It’s been interesting to see what seemingly innocuous phrases trip up these assistants. “Hey, sweetie,” regularly activates the HomePod, which thinks I’m saying “Hey, Siri.” My New Jersey accent combined with how quickly I talk when I’m overly excited causes Alexa to kick on when I say “And so.”
ref="https://www.theverge.com/2017/9/16/16318694/south-park-amazon-alexa-google-home" rel="nofollow noopener" target="blank">“South Park”</