Give or take a month or two, but according to my record-keeping talents, it has been 40 years since I was introduced to my first computer.
What have I learned in those four decades? If they work, I love them. If they develop glitches, the love fades rapidly.
Yours Truly is the one for whom was written, “Computers for Dummies,” and other assorted titles for how to manage computer illiteracy.
I can well recall the day back in 1984 when my employer of the day said I would have to give up my trusty electric typewriter for the computers that his company would be installing.
I think I might have replied to the effect: “Over my dead body.” He obviously wasn’t too concerned that my dead body would clutter the office as he went ahead and had a whole computer system installed, with networking and pagination and other significant technology that would rock my world.
Even while kicking and screaming my protest against changes to my comfortable work-place skills, I was sent to a one-day training session in Regina where the best thing the instructor could say about my talent was that I “had a nice touch with the mouse.’’
His explanation of files and files within folders and comparisons to drawers of a real filing cabinet made absolutely no sense to my very closed mind. Of course, I understood what he was trying to say, but why would I give in when I was perfectly happy to clunk along with the very reliable electric Remington. It worked just fine, except when the power went off, which didn’t happen all that often.
The instructor, in his wisdom, soon discovered that if I knew where the on and off buttons were located, and could write down some simple steps, I would likely be able to work my way around this new Apple/Mac computer, all in my own good time.
Eventually I learned to set up files within folders, learned how to turn stories into columns of type, changed fonts to allow for various forms of typefaces, learned that kerning is not possible on most computer programs and that computers don’t work when the power goes off and if you haven’t saved as you type, hours of work may be lost.
As the years passed, my skills improved but just when I thought I knew everything there was to know, a new computer system was developed and the learning began all over again. Over those years a friendly technician of all things computerish had my back, even though she sometimes showed her frustration with me: “what have you done now?” would be her first question, even before I could explain my dilemma.
When we upgraded our home computer system a few years ago, she came to the rescue when I unsuccessfully tried to upgrade a piece of software that I didn’t know was essential to some of the tasks I wished to accomplish.
She explained in some detail how the problem might be solved and then decided she’d better come in person for a hands-on look-see. A dinner invitation was passed along as an incentive.
A day passed and her own busy timetable kept her from dropping by. Meanwhile I pondered some of the information she had provided via phone and a light bulb went off. I scurried to the computer and fiddled a bit, then set out to download the software by using a system she had previously installed.
Imagine how brilliant I felt when the download was completed successfully. I e-mailed her the news, but hastened to tell her she was still welcome to drop by for dinner, even though I no longer required her IT skills. After all, I didn’t want her to think we would feed her only if she could repair the household computers.
More years have come and gone and the household computers have been upgraded in an attempt to keep up with what is happening in the market place. That book for dummies would still come in handy but there’s a new guy on the block to help with my inept moments.
“Hey Google, how come this dumb computer isn’t working?”
Google responds: “Did you forget to turn it on again?”
Joyce Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
