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Hartselle Enquirer

Surviving a small part of the modern world

By Staff
Leada Gore, Editor
I will be the first to tell you I am not a technology person. I consider it a good day if I manage to find the remote control for the television, much less know how to program it.
This lack of technology knowledge means I am often forced to rely on Greg to do things such as turn on the DVD player or use our video camera. If he's not around, I just don't watch a movie or make one myself, neither of which has held me back in my life.
It's not that I can't learn. I have managed to learn to use a computer every day at work and consider myself rather handy with it. The truth is, I don't want to learn. Much like a old computer, I figure my brain is about full. It's hard enough to keep up with the baby's schedule and her daily needs, much less the workings of an I-Pod.
Nowhere is this lack of technical knowledge or interest more frustrating to those around me than when it comes to my cell phone. After years of having an old phone, I recently purchased a newer model. It has a camera, a music player and some other stuff I'm sure I won't use. The first thing Greg did when I got home with the new phone was to program certain numbers in its memory.
"I don't know why you're doing that," I said. "I keep phone numbers on scraps of paper in my glove box. I won't use some pre-programmed thing."
He proceeded anyway, ignoring my protests about how scraps of paper have never been unavailable because of a dead battery.
Greg then showed me how to check my messages. My inability to do so has long vexed my boss, who couldn't understand why I refused to learn how to retrieve them. (See note above about ability vs. desire). Since this was an issue of some importance, I did try to learn this and managed to pay attention at least long enough to learn how to dial my code, listen to the messages and then delete.
Greg didn't bother with call forwarding, missed calls or the music player. I think he knew the old computer/brain was starting to shut itself off.
A few days later, one of the rare times I actually knew where my phone was, I glanced down and saw the words "one new message." My heart raced; it was crunch time.
Recalling Greg's directions, I managed to fumble my way through retrieving my message. I then returned the call, which just so happened to be from my boss. "Got your message," I said. "I know you're shocked."
And he was. But not quite as shocked as I was. I had navigated at least a small part of the technological world.
Who knows? Maybe one day I will figure out how to make that clock on the VCR quit blinking.

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