I’m obsolete!!
Well, my webpage is, apparently. I’ve been told by my web-people (like the fairies of the internet- only technologically minded) that my page “theme” is about to get glitchy, as it’s old, out of date, etc…and really the shelf life of a web page is only 4 to five years. Huh. Kinda like an i-phone. Are things just built to break? I’ve thought this for some time now, that everything has a built-in “shelf life” so you then can’t just pay for it once. I mean, we all used the same washer dryer combo growing up for like, FORTY YEARS, and now my shiny new one that sings little ditties to me, to let me know it has done my washing, la la la, has broken about three times in the last 5 years. Perhaps it needs to sing less and do its job, no? I know others who have gone to extremes to repair their old appliances, and I applaud this, because not only are they recycling, but they’re really just keeping old things running well like they were made for. Except for one of my landlords, that had a 1940’s stove that was so narrow it could fit into the tiny space he carved out of the counter space for it. It was rusting when we moved in, and one day I set a pan down on it and the whole top caved in. (ah, student life…) He called up his “guy” and voila! Hooked up the new stove! Except when I came home the house reeked of gas, so I called the gas company, who came in, hooked up the stove properly, and then asked me who had installed this thing, because it was about to blow the whole house up. But I digress.
I also had a friend whose uncle was very opposed to cell phones when they first came out: he was not ready for the NEW TECHNOLOGY. His response to cellular phones was to glue a rotary phone onto the dashboard of his car, and then pick it up, spiral cord and all, every time he saw someone talking on their cell. This technique might have taught a few a lesson. He also at times, wore a helmet while driving, which I guess also sends a message? Either way, he was resisting technology, even more than me. And his phone? Obsolete. Kind of like the pay phone, which I think is criminal. I mean, where is someone supposed to make their heavy breathing/prank phone calls from? Anyway….
I admitted to the web fairies that I knew nothing, in the hopes that they would take pity on me. And mostly, that works. My interactions with the fairies have been… somewhat satisfactory. At the end of each interaction, I am politely asked to rate them on a scale of one to five. Was my fairy pleasant? Was my problem resolved? This short survey is the only thing keeping them in line? I don’t know. But I always give them a middling 3 or four, because, hey, I don’t have to do their job. And nobody outright asked me, was this person a condescending jerkface to you, press one for yes…but certain fairies are much nicer than others. And some, in fact, are awesome.
I always preface these discussions with “Be nice to me. I am not a coder, we can both just agree that in this realm, I AM stupid.” This is followed by either a laugh or in my last interaction, dead silence. I could feel this woman was approximately five minutes away from quitting her job. True, it was at the end of her day, and she even told me so. As in, I am 24 minutes away from a mojito.The incredibly nice one, with a voice full of pure sweetness? I asked her for her number directly.
“Oh, we can’t do that, you just get whoever is free, but don’t worry, they are all very kind and helpful.”
This has not proven to be true. I got the young jerk twice, and the last time I just had to say, “you know what? I’m just going to have to call back.” Sure, perhaps that was a bit childish and passive-aggressive. But I live in Canada now so this is as close as I can come to being outright rude. But I think he got this job so he could say to other people “I deal with idiots all day long, they don’t even know how to set up their SSR/HTML/WTF whatever!” I hear in his voice the same tone I heard at a college party long ago, one populated with math students. I was dating a math student. Still am, actually, even after those parties.
“So this girl in my class, she couldn’t even figure out basic calculus. BASIC CALCULUS.”
I smiled at him.
“Oh No!” I said. What is she going to do with her life? She’s DOOMED.” at which point his big toothy smile slipped just a little and he asked me what department I was in.
“Art History,” I said, pulling a beer from a nearby barrel and excusing myself. I’m not sure why it got to me so much, other than he was talking about someone just like me. I was never any good with numbers. (Hint: If you’re not good at something, find someone who is and marry them, in case you have children, and in case those children need of math tutoring).
I know I’m being childish, that I’m more sensitive to attitude because they really have me by the invisible cohones. I thought that by admitting I was an idiot I would somehow come into their good graces, that they would take pity on this aged internet explorer. But really, it’s not them, it’s me. I’m still not good with numbers, much less series of numbers followed by forward slashes that make pretty pictures magically happen on the internet. And I’ll just have to swallow my pride, learn to deal with it. Very soon, there could be a new look, and I’ll have some fairies to thank for that. And also? I hate it when people talk on their cell phones in the car too. Maybe I’ll glue a rotary phone to my dash…that is, if I can ever find one.