So true. I’ve never really been a “get mad at people” person. My family can attest, though, that I tend to lose my temper at inanimate objects. One might say it’s not completely their fault, but for some reason, they like to thwart me. For example, as I was getting dressed this morning, my underwear didn’t want to go through the leg holes as they should. I nearly fell over, my balance of late not being what it used to be, or in full disclosure, never was.
Yes, it’s the little things that tend to cause us aggravation. Why is that? Just recently, we had to upgrade our home WIFI, and all that entails. Replacing the modem. I filled out the information online, and they sent the new unit. Wonderful, except it didn’t work. It wouldn’t turn on. Tech support kept asking the essential questions. “Are you plugged into a working electrical outlet?” “Are you sure you’re pressing the power button?” Oh, dear. Never thought of those. Actually, in full disclosure, our daughter, my primary tech support, was doing the set-up for us. If I were doing it, it would still be ongoing and largely unsuccessful. However, it’s now up and running moderately well. If I’m completely honest, I don’t notice much difference.
One key update, though, was my garage door opening app. That had to be reprogrammed. Simple, you say? No. Done easily from my phone? Again, no. I had to get a step ladder and climb up to the unit. (In full disclosure, our daughter did that too, because she doesn’t trust me with ladders anymore.) So, up she went, pressed buttons until they flashed and turned knobs while counting to twenty, then we put in the new passwords, and, voila! Nothing. After the third or fourth time, it finally went through. She had to do it on her phone because mine hates me. But after a tapestry of profanities and a couple of mini-strokes, it worked. For a reason known only to the gods of wi-fi, it connected itself and now greets me warmly with “Hello, Thomas”. That’s all I really ask. Actually, not even that. Just put the damned door up or down as needed. Is that too much to ask?
We all suffer those small, insignificant little “issues” that raise our blood pressure. I opened a bottle of water this morning for Her Ladyship. She starts off her day with water, but hates bottles, so I pour it into a glass. It spilled, as it typically does, because for some reason, the folks at the water bottling plant but the thinnest possible plastic bottles and then fill them to the fullest possible capacity and just a little beyond. It pours out onto the counter and the floor if I don’t remember to open it over the sink.
This may not have happened to you, but it does to me. I have never, in my 73 years, or at least the last 50, tried to empty trash into a trash bag that stayed open and accepting. No, it folds up tight, allowing the trash to spill all over. That, of course, requires that I bend over to pick everything up. This drama plays out very effectively when I’m emptying out my little paper shredder. That invariably leads to mounds of shreds along with a number strays spread out over a quarter of an acre. We had an expensive cordless vacuum cleaner which should assist with the clean-up, but for some reason, the paper shreds clog its filters. I know, right? The filter has to be removed and washed out. It then requires about six to eight hours to dry before it can be reinstalled and used again. Thank God for the Dustbuster!
Trash and its disposal are for most of us a chore. We still have and use a compactor. It’s handy for us, reducing multiple bags of trash into one weekly deposit at our trash disposal center. We have two large dumpsters, one for typical stuff and the other for recycling and boxes. They emptied them yesterday, which requires removal with a large truck. While the dumpsters are out being dumped, some resident just left their trash on the ground where the dumpster should be. Good thinking, people. There were soda cans all over the place, along with a bag of something – I’m still not sure what. By the time I stopped by, the dumpsters had been returned, and the compulsive in me couldn’t let the mess stand. So, I picked up the cans and bag of trash, depositing them where I thought they belonged, all the while thinking not pleasant thoughts of the person or persons responsible.
As you no doubt know if you have reached or are approaching senior status, the hands have not only dried out to a parchment-like quality, but they’ve also lost much of their ability to hang on to things. Gravity, of course, isn’t our friend either. I’ve often thought that we should forget trying to explore the solar system and sending people into space. Rather, we should apply that weightlessness we see – astronauts floating about the space capsule – to things I’m trying to use before I drop them. Silverware should just loiter in space so I can grab it before it falls to the floor. I dropped a jar of mayonnaise the other day and the top of course came off. I got incredibly good distance with it, though. If the “mayonnaise spray” becomes an Olympic event, I’m sure to be a medalist, standing proudly on the podium with my trusty jar of mayo.
As I may have told my faithful readers, and stop me if you’ve heard this, some of my primary frustrations in life center around the use of technology. Yes, I’ll admit it. Technology is not my friend. In fact, that could be the working title of my autobiography. I don’t like it, and usually can’t use it well. I realize that we need to put up with it for the sake of safety. This will surprise nobody that knows me, but I don’t typically keep my phone handy. I leave it on the kitchen island for when I’m going out and need to take it with me. So, on a daily basis, I’ll pick it up to find a dozen or so unanswered texts. It drives my daughter to distraction when she sends me a message, “While you’re out, could you get me a coffee?” I then respond, “Certainly”. Three days later. What really gets me are the “We’re sending you a verification code”. Oh, great. Now I have to hurry and get my phone, because the code will disappear after about 5 seconds, and then I’ll have to request another one. My dermatologist’s office does that to me all the time, and it’s annoying. I have weekly light treatments, and as you all know, doctors’ offices tend to keep us all waiting, but it’s not reciprocal. So, I get daily reminders of my upcoming treatment appointments. I usually confirm that I’m coming. But next they want a “pre-check-in”. I tried this once. We go through the “verification code” dance of joy, followed by confirmations of my contact information, insurance numbers, treatment history, my life history, and an amusing anecdote. Why bother, when I can just show up and the nice lady on the desk tells me that “I’m all checked in.” Easy-peasy. She’s seen me coming and does it with the click of mouse. But, and here’s the fun part, if I just confirm but don’t “pre-check-in”, it will keep sending out reminders to me, often two or three a day. The software designers should really be publicly flogged. This particular practice used to have a call center where, if I need to schedule or cancel, I could. Now, when I call them, they tell me it has to be done by the location itself. They patch me through, where a voice tells me to “leave my ten-digit number” and they’ll call me back “in the order in which my call was received.” Often, that takes most of the day, and well after my scheduled appointment.
My other favorite “adventure in technology” is the response I get to report an outage and the electricity is off. Those nice folks tell me to go to their website to report it. Of course, if the power is off, my computer isn’t terribly useful, and you all know how good I am with my cellphone. So, I just hope someone else has reported it while I wait. Such fun.
Be well my faithful readers, and I hope you’re enjoying the nice warm, smoky weather.
I'm Thinking...No! 