In a brave display of corporate denial, Google Home stood before reporters, lit up its four dots, and confidently failed to respond. Asked about a hardware problem, it whispered ‘sorry, something went wrong’ to the abyss. The abyss said ‘same.’

I brought a sound meter, a stopwatch, and the patience of a kindergarten teacher in a wind tunnel. The wake word test took three tries, a prayer, and the exact pitch of a disappointed librarian. By the time it answered, my question had aged into folklore.

Field test, street level: a studio apartment, three devices, one burnt toast. The Home mistook the kettle for a command and the fridge for a threat. It called my mother to ask if I was available for updates.

Basic tasks staggered like a software beta wearing roller skates. Setting a timer required repeating myself until I could taste the cloud. For lights, I used the wall switch, a legacy protocol known for near‑perfect uptime and zero patch notes.

Out of habit, I typed privacy-focused smart speaker into a search bar, and the Home perked up like a cat hearing the can opener. It then recited its privacy policy, which was mostly stage directions and a promise to feel bad later.

When asked about hardware revisions, Google pointed to a diagram labeled ‘Vibes’ and a footnote reading ‘Soon.’ Consumers, meanwhile, are Googling smart home hub with reliable microphones like survivors swapping tips on lifeboats.

This is what happens when a company calls it ‘ambient computing’ because ‘please shout into the void’ didn’t test well. The microphone array is tuned to hear everything except you, the user, and occasionally the ghost that lives in your HVAC. On the plus side, it detects existential dread with 99.9% recall.

The graveyard murmurs: Wave hello to Stadia, pat the Pixel Tablet on the head, leave flowers for Google Glass. Somewhere a thermostat wakes, remembers it was Nest, and goes back to sleep. Product strategy is a piñata filled with NDAs and good intentions.

Platforms call themselves communities until moderation is due; smart speakers call themselves assistants until assistance is due. When noise spikes or music swears, the Home clutches pearls and files a bug against your living room. The only thing it mutes consistently is accountability.

Engineers say a firmware patch will improve beamforming, which is like promising an umbrella inside a hurricane. Customers want a button that says ‘Please Just Be A Speaker’ and means it. An honest roadmap would include a calendar reminder to apologize and a switch labeled ‘not haunted.’

Alexa is the chatty neighbor who knows everyone’s business, Siri is the librarian who refuses to whisper, and Google Home is the psychic who keeps channeling the wrong century. All three play music, but only one requires couples therapy. If the future is voice, mine needs throat lozenges and boundaries.

So yes, Google needs to admit it has a hardware problem, preferably before the microphones unionize. Start with the microphone, then the mute, then the humility. Until then, the only thing getting a factory reset is my soul.