Techno-Time One Full-Fledged Adult Gingerly Tests The Waters Of 21st Century Technology

Not too long ago I completed a computer class that I’ll call “Microchips for Morons.” I am of the generation who learned to type on a manual typewriter (those born AFTER 1960, ask Grandma what that is), and my knowledge of computers is limited to “I’m sorry, but that information isn’t on our computer” when dealing with the Huge and Impersonal Department that has lost a check I wrote six months ago.

Therefore, I decided to go kicking and screaming into the 21st century. As a writer and as the keeper of the family finances (such as they are … see previous paragraph), I felt that it was knowledge that I could put to good use. Example: They rejected my article … obviously it’s the way the computer set up the margins. Or, what do you mean you don’t have a record of my paying that bill? According to my computer, YOU owe ME $200!

My teacher was a “computer nerd.” Very nice man, and obviously an expert, but I’m sure that he spends all his time in his office at home dreaming up tortures for his students, emerging only for his meals (or they are shoved under his door). He systematically went through four pages of his manual in three minutes and then expected us to understand what he said. Of course, I took copious notes, none of which I could read when I got home and tried to transcribe them on my ELECTRIC (we do evolve) typewriter (see paragraph 1. re: Grandma). The notes looked like hieroglyphics.

The first hurdle, of course, is the lingo. This is a machine, for cripe’s sake, and it’s awarded its own language. For example, when we learned (and I use the term loosely) spreadsheets, we were told that a “plus sign” means VALUE, not let’s add. And the “asterisk” translates MULTIPLY, not see the stuff at the bottom of the page. And of course there’s the “cursor” which really just points to your place on the screen. Why didn’t they call it a POINTER? Besides, in my class a good deal of the time the “cursor” was the student next to me, or myself.

“Density,” as computer experts know, means the capability of the disk, but better described my head.

I may as well have signed up for Arabic.

Another problem that I had was what I call a “nervous finger” - I would punch a key, and suddenly I was confronted with an entire row of that one letter. But “Backspace” and I are well-acquainted; I could delete as freely as I could type it. Too bad my other mistakes were not that easily remedied. My computer beeped rudely at me often. And when it did, in my panic I’d usually correct myself by crashing my program. Amazing how one touch of a key would erase an entire evening’s work. Only, however, five minutes before class was over. That would assure me of going home totally frustrated and securely aware of my stupidity - and birthdate.

Now, it’s several months later, and I can turn the machine on and by following the manual carefully, push a key (once, hopefully) and our entire world of finances appears on the screen. (Actually, I guess our finances can’t be equated with an entire world. It’s more like an entire block.)

Or, I can write this essay in an hour or so, instead of the 15 minutes it would normally take me on the typewriter. Or, I can win at bridge, or drive the green in my golf game. Truly marvelous, constructive stuff.

Next step, I suppose, is the Internet. But I think I might wait on it for a while. One has to learn to walk before attempting to run, and I’m still at the crawling stage. It’d be just my luck, with my uncanny penchant for screwing up, to throw the whole superhighway into a traffic jam and the “Communication Cops” strip me of my keyboard.

Let me see, where did I put my typewriter? I may need it.

MEMO: Shari Huffman is a free-lance writer in Spokane.