Since computer woes was a theme of the last entry, here is a reprint of a newspaper column published in 1997. Even though last decade is now technological medieval times, our effort to coexist with what we have created is eternal.
The computer room in our house had been buzzing all day with my teenage son and his buddies dashing in and out clutching disks in their hands. They seemed solemn of purpose and steadfast in their commitment to a project that seemed of great importance. I am only computer literate to the point that I can use Microsoft Word to enter and record my writing assignments and then AOL to transmit them to my editor. And as the pig would say “Th-th-th-that’s all folks.” For further knowledge of the technical aspects of our equipment I can only look to the toll free numbers inside the manuals we have stacked on the shelf.
After the friends had all departed and the room was free I moseyed in with my notepad to enter my latest assignment, now on deadline. My son sauntered in behind me. “You know,” he began, hands in pockets, “this may not be a good time to do that.” Over the years we all get to know our children dangerously well and I knew this particular child well enough to feel a slight wave of panic at the sound of his words. As he explained further it became clear that the procession of friends that day had been attempting to help him rectify a problem he had encountered while downloading a document off the Internet. Mildly annoyed, I told him it was okay, I would put my story on a disk and drive it over to the newspaper in the morning rather than using email. He said no, the problem wasn’t really with the Internet. It was more like Windows 95 had been, shall we say, accidentally erased.
Perhaps if you were sitting in your quiet living room that evening you might have heard me scream. It was not a scream of anger but rather the more pathetic, dirge-like wail of a person who would rather swallow a fork than call for technical assistance. In an attempt to avoid a lengthy and impossibly confusing telephone call I first asked my friend’s computer knowledgeable husband to come over and have a look. An hour later he emerged from the room with his face drawn and Son behind him, ashen. “Call technical support,” he advised solemnly. This amounted to summoning the National Guard only to have them tell you that you need the Marines. I fear needing the Marines.
The 800 number for Dell brought us a friendly man named Doug with a gentle southern drawl. He and Son chatted extensively and then the phone was placed into my hand. Apparently, our free assistance had recently expired and Doug needed my credit card number. As I read off the digits to our new friend I looked up to see Son mouthing the words “I’ll pay you back.” Dignity prevents me from repeating my mouthed response.
As Doug explained it, the document that the “young customer” downloaded off the Internet contained a virus that essentially ripped through our Windows 95 program. In an attempt to reinstall it the “young customer” unfortunately used not one but two different corrupt Windows programs which succeeded in also corrupting the boot disk, or Windows rescue system. The bad news, as Doug continued, was that the repair procedure incurred by the “young customer” would require not one but two separate charges to my credit card since it certainly looked like the hard drive would have to be totally wiped out and erased. This would result in the loss of any files currently stored in the computer as well as all existing programs. Overwhelmed, I mentioned to Doug my hope that at the very least a lesson had been learned at which point he urged me “not to be too hard on the young customer, ma’am, because life is a series of lessons.”
Sometime after midnight I finished entering my assignment into our newly renovated computer and clicked on the Internet connection so I could send it via email and save myself a trip in the morning. The screen lit up with the greeting “Goodbye from America Online! Your account has been terminated!” It’s a good thing the young customer is a deep sleeper.
Copyright 1997 by author