I don’t know who else to blame. Bill Gates is responsible for most of the software that lives in the monster sitting on my desk, silently calculating its next move, waiting to torment me. As the last of an endangered species known as the Computerless, I purchased my first monster two weeks ago. Now I belong to a class of unfortunate beings known as Computer Illiterate. These are people, like me, who fight with their computers for an hour just to find a way to write a word that does not exist, like Computer less. Do you see what the monster just did? He corrected something against my will, separating the words “Computer” and “less.” Five lines up, I waged a brutal battle with the monster, and with all the tactical and combat training I possess, I emerged victorious.
I wake the monster every morning at 6. “Hello, Ned Bletch,” he says, “You have 12 programs running, preventing others from logging on. Are there files you would like to delete?”
Right off the bat, I have problems.
Problem 1: My name is not Ned Bletch. I do not know why the monster refuses to use my real name, but he did tell me I could change it. I thought that was rather nice of him, but then he informed me that if I did make a name change, he would shut down completely … forever. I hate being threatened, but I will settle for Ned Bletch to avoid catastrophe.
Problem 2: I do not have 12 programs running. I have three files. That’s it. Where is he getting this bogus information from?
Problem 3: I am not connected to the Internet. How can anyone else log on? As I am pondering this question, a message appears: “Emergency. Someone is attempting to remove your files. Activate Norton Security Measures Immediately.” I have been told by people who “know” to ignore these messages, which are promotional sales gimmicks, so I follow their advice and return to the document I had been working on. Blank screen. Where did it go?
Three hours later, I have made my way deep into the monster’s internal system; purely by accident, but nonetheless I find lists of files dating back to 2003. There are hundreds of them, but the monster will not allow me to view them without entering an owner name. How would I know who owned this monster before I bought him? Just as I am ready to throw in the proverbial towel, revelation intervenes. I enter the name Ned Bletch. Bingo! Everything from legal documents to ownernership papers for a racehorse named Howardscowstail, even copies of pages of the Daily Racing Form are in this listing. Enough already! I have been ripped off. My monster is really a re-conditioned facsimile of a new computer. I call Dell Technical Support.
“Naw seer, these ees seemply cheep drife componink use-ed for testink sestym ahn debuggy. Nutt ryil file.”
Somehow, my call had been routed to Dell-Urkutsk.
“You are telling me that you use copies of the Daily Racing Form to test your new computers? I find that hard to believe. I didn’t think people would have much use for the Daily Racing Form in Urkutsk.”
“Mose pipple don understank, seer, boot I ass sure you, computink iss nyew.”
“I’m not on the Internet. How come I get messages telling me people are waiting to log on, or are trying to remove my files?”
“Oh. Juse promoshink. Mose like ally pre-install ed programmink.”
“Well, how do I exchange this thing for a new computer?”
“You dyonk nid nyew combputink. Rid eenstrushion booklink.”
“There is no instruction booklet.”
“Oh.”
The poor guy was really trying, but I had no energy left. Trying to understand him was exhausting.
I am stuck with this monster. He does what he wants, not what I want, and if I attempt to work my way around his roadblocks, he gets angry and punishes me. This morning, I printed a page of text for this article. Would you find this interesting?
qweweerttyykvvjdbsvbvvbbvjdvmvnvcmmkdwod
I didn’t think so. Now, when I want to write in Times New Roman font, the monster requires me to use a font called Wingdings. Otherwise, I wind up with anything from Chinese to Malaysian text. Sometimes, the font even changes mid-sentence.
Artificial Ignorance, programmed with psychotic tendencies, is a frightening new technology. If left to its own devices, we may find ourselves enslaved to a race of machines hard-wired to George Bush’s brain.