The robots are coming!

I thought I'd sit down really quickly and transfer my blog to a different hosting space, because I was tired of the Blogger layout--I wanted something shiny and new. I wanted something that said, "Here's a girl who knows what she's doing; here's a girl who's clever and sophisticated."

I am none of those things--NONE of them. "Really quick" turned into an 18-hour disaster from which I will never ever recover--like EVER. There were robots in my room. They crawled out of my computer to "guide" me through the setup process for my new blog space.

"We're helping hands," they told me. "Please remain calm while we help you."

Zombie Robot by Scott Johnson

I was prompted by a friendly pop-up window to answer a series of extremely personal questions as completely and honestly as possible (* requires an answer):

1. Full name *
2. Age *
3. Gender *
4. Sexual preference *
5. Marital status *
6. Number of partners *
7. Drug use (including prescriptions) *

"You've got to be kidding..."

One of the robots grabbed my arm to prevent me from closing my browser.

"You cannot exit the program," they told me. "We are here to help you. Please answer the questions."

I tried once more to close my browser, but the robots wouldn't let me. They strapped me to the chair and approached me with a pointy object attached to a long cable.

"You cannot exit the program," they repeated. "We will retrieve the information if you cannot answer the questions."

"Why do you need to know how many sexual partners I've had or what drugs I'm on?"

"Your answers will help us personalize your blog space," they answered. "Please remain calm while we help you."

I told the robots I changed my mind. I told them I was happy with Blogger.

"I'd like to delete my account, please."

"You cannot exit the program. Your content belongs to the program."

Wait a minute.

"Like hell it does!"

I rocked back and forth in the chair trying to loosen the straps around my chest and ankles. It was no use though, the robots were much too strong for me.

"Please remain calm while we help you," they said again, plunging the pokey thing into my arm.

"Thank you for answering our questions. Your registration is almost complete. Please select from the list of gadgets and apps to improve your blogging experience."

The list was impressive. I almost forgot about the rapey robots while I pondered the advantages of a proofreading app--human editors can be so tiring after all.

"Does your program understand context?" I asked.

"We are helping hands," they said. "How may we assist you today?"

"Does your program understand context?" I asked again.

"You asked: Does your program understand context? Is that right?"

"Yes," I said.

"There are no matches for 'context' in our database."

I was quite irritated by this point. It was 2 p.m. My kids would be home soon. I had to get rid of the robots.

"I'd really like to delete my profile."

"You must complete the registration process before you can delete your profile," they said. "We will complete your registration for you if you require assistance."

There was an ad for one of the Law and Order TV shows playing on the bottom right corner of the page. It reminded me of an old public service announcement with Sam Waterston.

"I have robot insurance," I shouted as loud as I could. "You can't do this to me."

The robots' heads spun around five, maybe six times. Their eyes flickered.

"You chose: Delete my profile. Is that right?" They asked.

"Yes," I answered.

The robots removed my restraints and assured me that my Blogger profile was still active.

"We are pleased we could assist you today," they said. "Please check your email shortly for an audio transcript of this service call."

The robots crawled back into my computer, and I spent the rest of the day reformatting my Blogger blog. Please keep negative feedback to yourself, or I will send the Helping Hands to your IP addresses.