Andy Richardson: Weird & wacky world of autocorrect

“Meet you at The Alchemist. 6pm. It’s in Colmore Row.”

I pressed send.

Then my sixth sense took over and made me re-read the message.

“Meet you at The Alchemist. 6pm. It’s in Commode Row.”

Yes, Commode. Damn Autocorrect.

My friend replied. “Lol.” Though I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t sending Love. Maybe autocorrect intervened again.

While we were going out for food and while it might have involved hot spice, neither of us has reached the age where we need a chair that’s fashioned into a toilet. We both still have the ability to walk the 10 seconds it takes to reach the bathrooms. Commodes are strictly not necessary. And I hope they never will be.

Autocorrect is weird. It’s like predictive text but worse. And when, like me, you’re the only person on the planet who still uses Blackberry and therefore ends up with a phone programmed with American spellings, it leads to frequent mishaps. And before we go any further, don’t be offended by the acronym WTF – it means Wantonly Thick-Headed Farrago. And nothing else. Honest. We checked it.

One of my favourites involved a chap who was sending a text message to his mother. They hadn’t been in touch for a few days so she sent him a message to make sure he was well.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “Haven’t heard from you in a few days!”

He replied: “Yup. Sorry ma. I just came out of the closet.”

“Oh Matthew! That is great. I always had a hunch. I love you no matter what. So does your father.”

Matthew was perplexed. “Holy moly, I’m not gay, ma. I meant ‘coming out of the clinic’. Autocorrect.”

His mother didn’t know where to put herself. “Oh, I see.”

“The real issue is you think I am gay???”

There’s another straight from the Hammer Book of Horror that bears repeating. It was sent by Bryan F to his friend, after he’d been on a date. Here’s what autocorrect did to a simple conversation.

“So how was the date last night, bro. Did you score?”

Bryan responded: “Not quite. First date. We went to dinner and then I walked her home. Then I killed her in the woods outside her house and left.”

Bryan’s friend didn’t know what to make of his, erm, over-reaction: “Killing her seems a bit harsh. Did she order the lobster and filet mignon at dinner or something?”

Bryan clarified: “KISSED. Wtf.”

A third one was from an amorous fella to his girlfriend, who, it’s fair to say, wasn’t feeling quite so amorous. Autocorrect created problems that might not have existed.

This is what Romeo said: “Be warned. I’m dumping you when I get home tonight.”

Juliet responded: “Fine with me. I was just thinking we could use some time apart.”

Romeo: “WTF, JENNA??? I got autocorrected. I meant to write ‘jumping’ you, not dumping you. And now you’re telling me you want to break up?”

“Well, this is awkward. . .”

Autocorrect mess-ups aren’t as prevalent as once they were. Phone manufactures have developed increasingly smart software that cuts out the sort of messages that were found in the Olden Days of 2011, like this: “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dead husband. Happy birthday to you.”

“I assume you meant ‘dear’.”

“Ahhhh. Yes. I mean that. Crazy autocorrect. Sorry babe.”

These days, for instance, most mobile phones know the difference between a deliciously calorific potato snack and having a baby. It wasn’t always so. Rewind to 2012, and this might have been a typical exchange.

Boy: “Can’t wait to see you babe.”

Girl: “It’s Friday. I’m getting pregnant tonight!”

Boy: “Shouldn’t we talk first?”

Girl: “Oh my God! I wrote pringles and it autocorrected to pregnant”

Boy: “I almost had a heart attack!”

Autocorrect also knows the difference between harmless and benign furry mammals and gun-totin’ rappers. It wasn’t always so. Back in 2011, gangstas and hamsters were a simple mistake away.

“I’m gangster. I’m a straight up G, the hamster life is the life for me. STUPID AUTO CORRECT!!!”

“Been spendin’ most of their lives in the hamster paradise.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

My favourite, however – and this one beats texting your friend and telling her you’ll meet her at Commode Row – came about because a phone didn’t know the difference between Chinese food and cannibalism.

Woman: “Babe I don’t feel like cooking. Can you bring home human beef?”

Man: “WTF Beth? Human beef?”

Woman: “I’m laughing so hard. Hunan beef. The place that just opened on 7th avenue. I’m laughing so hard I was almost sick.”

As he might have been, if he’d been asked to eat human beef.