(F) U-Connect

Harry met me for lunch this afternoon and took me to Jim's, the local spaghetti house so that I may eat (and wear) a delicious and hot meal on this dreary and weary Friday. 

Afterwards, we're driving around in the Jeep and Harry says :  "Can I see your phone?"

I pull my Pink Slivr from the confines of my "oops-I-forgot-I-owned-that!" red suede Coach purse and hand it to him.

He pulls over and starts to set my phone up to connect to the Jeep using bluetooth and U-connect. 

How cool.

How sucky.

The automated woman has an attitude problem that a penny in the cigarette lighter just might fix.  First of all - you are not to speak if she is speaking.  She rattles off menu after menu of "phone book" or "add an entry" and "pairing of phone" and all in her vaguely British sounding voice (which I'm pretty sure is a fake accent).

I get to the point of adding a contact and I'm red-faced, yelling at her trying to get her to understand "Harry."  "HARRY!"  I bellow into the speaker above my hubby's head. 

"Did you say 'Meme'?"  she asks in a sarcastic, metallic tone.

"No!" I yell.  "HARRY!" 

"I'm sorry. Did you say - 'Meme'." I'm pretty sure the robo-bitch is mocking me now.

"Haaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

"I'm sorry.  Did you say 'Cancel'?" 

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" I scream and Harry shakes with laughter as I wail and cry at the slow torture being inflicted upon me by a car - and my husband who insists I set up my own phone.  With his help, of course. 

"I really didn't think it would be this complicated!"  he says with sincerity - or what could pass as sincerity if I wasn't hopping mad and purple with rage.

A few minutes later I finally get the finicky female to understand me.  As we're pulling up to the building, Harry turns on his phone, and says 'Call Harry."  The sexist, male-loving, automated car whore with vd of the sound system hops right to it:  "Calling Harry."

"Well, huh.  I guess you didn't actually have to set that up yourself.  I guess I could've done it." I hop out of the car and barely resisit the urge to wound my cute "oops-I-forgot-I-owned-that!" red suede Coach purse around his neck as I storm into the office building with a pink-cheeked, tear-streaked, set face.  

This is why you should buy foriegn.

You kinda expect them to not understand what the hell you're saying...