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Brooks Peterson
Monday, May 7, 2001
Low-tech wretches win a round
Let's make one thing absolutely clear at the outset: I'm not the sort of guy who takes pleasure in the discomfiture of his friends and colleagues. No, no, no. That would be contemptible, and I like to think I'm above that sort of thing.
Still . . .
Here's the thing: As those who follow the rants that appear in this space know, I have . . . how shall we it put it? . . . some, let us say, issues when it comes to technology.
Oh, why beat around the bush? Fact is, I'm totally at sea when it comes to technology, high, low or intermediate. I'm still struggling to come to terms with the late 20th century, never mind the new millennium.
As you can imagine, this puts me at something of a disadvantage when it comes to working with the ultra-sophisticated, cutting-edge technology we wield on a daily basis at this establishment. People - well, most people - try to be kind, but I know they're laughing at me when I come out on the short of end of a tussle with the computer gremlins. I know some of them exchange knowing glances when they hear the primal groans from my office as the remorseless computer flashes the dreaded "Application Error."
Every now and then, though, we Neanderthals win a round. This happens about as often as the sighting of a new and exotic species of mold in the heart of the Amazonian rain forests - but it does happen, and just frequently enough to give us the strength to carry on.
Bound to happen
Take today. (Hoo, hoo. Hee, hee.) As I write this, I find myself (har, har) in the utterly unfamiliar, but endlessly enjoyable, position not only of having been proved right (woooo haaaaaa!), but of being entitled to utter four of the most deeply soul-satisfying words in the English lexicon:
I told you so.
And I did.
Permit me to explain. As it has in just about every other facet of our collective existence, technology has effected changes in the way we are paid.
Used to be we got a check every week, delivered in a nice business-size envelope with a little transparent window showing our names.
A while back, in the interest of efficiency, we went to twice-monthly paychecks. This was mildly discomfiting, but not really a big cosmic deal.
Ah, but then . . . then the high-tech guys got onto the case in earnest. We were notified that we now had an exciting new fiduciary option open to us: direct electronic deposit. (That can't be the correct term: The acronym would, after all, be DED.) (Then again . . .)
No more paperwork. Instead, our leaders told as we looked on with big cow-like eyes, high tech would zap our dough straight into our checking accounts (or wherever we wished) with none of that nasty human interaction whatsoever. This was gonna be great!
You know what? They bought it. As nearly as I can figure, the vast majority of my peers went for it, hook, line and sinker. It was hip. It was happening. It was today.
I tried, gosh knows I tried. I told 'em - and told 'em, and told 'em. No good will come of this, sez I. What's so onerous about toddling over to your credit union/bank twice a month?
After the crash
And - this was the clincher - what about the day DED goes kerflooey? Where ya gonna be then, Mr. or Ms. Technoid? I'll tell you where: You're gonna be hiding in low dives and seedy motels, dodging the creditors who are after your scalp(s), that's where.
Sure enough, this week (last week, actually, as you read this) DED . . . died.
Only to be resuscitated, to be sure, in a day - ah, but what a day. What a glorious day for us: We few, we happy few, we band of Neanderthals. For one brief shining moment, we could banish all thought of Application Errors and computer crashes. We could stand in the cleansing sunlight and send up a great, baying, unforgettable howl to set the welkin ringing:
We told you so.
And we did.
Brooks Peterson can be reached by phone at 886-3772, or by e-mail at petersonb@caller.com
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