The other side of the brain
When I was a small boy, my family and I watched a television show called "The Jetsons." It was about a family much like ours, except for the fact they had robots and space ships at their access. At that time, I couldn't even imagine what would happen in just 50 years.
I saw a commercial the other day that featured cars being built that "sense" danger even if the driver doesn't. There are even cars being made that don't need the driver to drive them! I thought of the Jetsons and wondered if personal space ships will be far behind.
The whole concept of computers baffles me even though I use one daily. I've been told I think on the "other side of the brain" from the technical frontier. I've set up camp on my brain's creative side. To be honest, when it comes to technology, I think I'm a lot further away than just the other side of my brain.
My wife, Debra, claims that when I get within a couple of feet of a computer, strange things occur. Programs stop working, screens jam up and the keyboard refuses to work.
"I simply don't understand it," she exclaims. "I promise I didn't touch anything!" I offer in my defense.
One thing I do know is that if anything major is going to happen with our computer, it waits until Debra is out of town. When Debra is more than 100 miles away, the components of our computer join forces to have a little fun with me. Looking at me from inside the screen, I know they must be laughing at me as I sit there dumbfounded.
Just the other day when Debra was all the way across the nation, my iPad just stopped accepting the Wi-Fi in our house. I went through the checklist Debra has drilled into my head for possible quick fixes, but none of them worked. Reluctantly, I called the guy who works on our computer but after I tried to explain the situation, he was baffled. So, I decided I would take my chances with an Apple representative in some other part of the world.
I dialed the number and a robot of some sort answered the phone. She was asking for several things including the serial number of my iPad. "If you don't know where to find it, press 2," it said in a mechanical robot voice. I pressed 2. Frantically looking, I finally found it. The robot then told me to say the group of letters and numbers at least three inches long into the phone. I did and held my breath.
"I got the first part of your serial number up to the number 5, but couldn't understand the next four numbers," the robot said. I decided to start with 5 and go ahead and repeat the rest of the numbers. As soon as I got four or five numbers into it, the robot stopped me and said it had the rest. "I'm taking to a robot," I mumbled to myself.
At some point, I graduated to speaking with a human named Nicole. She was pleasant and helpful as we began our journey down Technical Drive. Half the time I didn't even know the answers to her questions, but she patiently tried to walk me through it.
"Plug this cord into that port, start up this program by clicking that key," she said. I felt like I was taking the SAT again without a pencil or a full night's sleep.
Nicole was trying her best to help me up a mountain full of technology but, because of me, we had every obstacle possible in our path. When something she told me to do failed, Nicole assured me it was all right and we would just go around it on a different path. An hour later, we were still basically at the base of the mountain.
Reluctantly, I surrendered. I was late for dinner and there was no hope in sight. Nicole assured me she had taken good notes and offered me a case number to call back later.
"You won't get me," she said with a touch of relief in her voice. "But someone should be able to help you."
The screen of our computer looked like a battlefield of programs all trying to run while my iPad was teetering from a cord holding it to a port. I got up, grabbed my wallet and keys, walked out the door and never looked back. Days later, Debra returned to a cyberspace disaster. I stayed away from the office while she performed cyber surgery on the computer. I was scared! Apparently she noticed it and decided not to attack me.
"Maybe I'm not supposed to be a Jetson," I said to myself. "Maybe I should stay on the other side of my brain. Maybe it's really OK to not understand technology!"
You know what? I bet neither that robot nor Nicole can draw or paint!
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This story was originally published April 2, 2016 at 9:09 PM with the headline "The other side of the brain ."