Isn’t Google the most incredible source of information the world ever could imagine? Nobody has to drag out the Encyclopedia Britannica to find elusive answers. Nobody has to travel to the library to spend a day at the research department. Nobody has to call a friend to ask.
I am filled with wonderment every time I ask Google a question and within seconds, receive the carefully researched, perfect answer. I am in awe of Google’s brilliance. He’s smarter than the winners of TV’s Jeopardy, can out-spell any top spelling bee champion and is even smarter than the GE Science prize winner and Pillsbury bake-off winner combined.
I depend on Mr. Google to help me clarify all sorts of facts, from the dollar amount of the national debt to a tricky word on a New York Times crossword puzzle. Dear Mr. Google always covers my back. What a capacity for knowledge; what a storage of facts his brain recalls.
I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I have developed a huge crush on Mr. Google. I dream of life with a being who is so smart, so intelligent, so well read. What would it be like to live with someone who knew all the answers to plumbing, electrical and construction problems? Can you imagine the ecstasy of living with a guy thoroughly enlightened with the Kama Sutra, who knows all of Anais Nin’s work, and even has a passing knowledge of Fifty Shades of Gray? All three editions?
But it’s too late now. If only I had met Mr. G years ago we could have had an exciting and harmonious life. I would be on cloud nine, and all the other happy cliches, having an ideal information source near me at all times. I would be happy to have him by my side, feeding me facts I need as I needed them. I would love that.
Or would I? What would it be like to live with someone who knows everything? Someone who could correct everything anyone said. Someone who could put you down for your ignorance of quantum physics. Nobody likes a wise guy. Nobody likes a know-it-all. Nobody is interested in an opinionated, self-impressed boor.
Would he ever respect my point of view? Would I ever have a chance to express one? Would I remember that I even have my own point of view? Mr. Smarty-Pants would become tiresome quickly. I would get irritated just hearing him expound on his boring old facts. Who really cares about the numbers of the National debt? Look it up in any financial paper, or ask a stock broker. Crossword puzzle answers? Getting the answers is cheating anyway and I shouldn’t be counting on him to get me through the puzzle. Well, maybe Saturday’s puzzle.
My friends would think he was a creep and a nerd with a giant ego. People would avoid us; nobody wants to be second guessed, put down and contradicted at every turn. I’m lucky to have my imperfect, faultlessly human and challenging life. Perfection is overrated. I’ll take “human flaws” any time.
Anyway he probably slurps his soup, bites his nails and perpetually scowls!