iScream

             Hubby Bill announced he was going to the AT&T store for a phone update and asked if I would like one, too. I tagged along with mixed emotions—excitement and dread. Yes, it would be nice to have more speed and to take sharper pictures. But entertaining no delusions about my computer skills, I also knew I was in for a lot of frustration.

            To preserve her anonymity and to ensure I don’t get sued, I’ll call the AT&T sales rep Holly. Holly was pleasant and, no doubt about it, knew her stuff. After she sold Bill and me two new iPhone 5s, she downloaded our contacts into them. Then she told us the instruction pamphlet in the box contained everything we needed to know. But I had a question:  “Can I transfer all the photos from my old phone onto this one?”

            Any grandparent will understand the importance of this request. For most of my life, I’ve carried no more than two or three pictures in my wallet, but now I need all 491 of my pics and videos with me at ALL times. I never know when someone will ask to see my grandsons blowing out birthday candles. Or sliding down a slide. Or turning over. Or...You get my point.

            Holly said, “Oh, sure. You can do it through iTunes. It’s simple.”

            Her language shocked me. I couldn't believe she used the s-word: simple.

            AT&T might have done an excellent job training Holly to sell and program phones, but they fell short in the customer-relations department. Did the girl even look at me? Were my gray hair and Clarks sandals and the leopard-print case on my old phone not enough to scream, “BABY BOOMER!”? And did she not know that to a Baby Boomer NOTHING associated with technology is ever REMOTELY simple?

             It’s not that Boomers are stupid. It’s just that, unlike her generation, we weren’t trained to use a computer before we were trained to use the potty. And while they might be able to text with their thumbs, I could teach them a thing or two about using the nominative case of pronouns correctly.

            But not wanting to appear stupid, I asked no more questions and took the phone home.  After hours of googling and searching without transferring a single photo, I returned the next day to the store and to Holly. She patiently punched in some numbers on my phone and explained my pics had been stored on my iCloud. All I had to do was download them. Right. 

Thanks, Apple, for shattering my "cloud" fantasy.

            For all my life, a cloud has been a cottony puff of bliss, associated with floating above life’s problems and experiencing euphoria. But Apple has shattered that fantasy. Now, for me, cloud is just another word for stress. My photos were somewhere, floating on my own, personal iCloud. Obvisously they liked it there, because I couldn’t convince them to leave and take up residence in my new phone.  So three days later, not caring if I appeared stupid, I went back to the store and...success! I have no clue what they did and don’t want to find out. All I know is I have my pics on my new phone, and I’m satisfied.

             But if you yourself don’t want to be shocked, don’t mention the iC-word in my presence.

“You had me from...'eh- lo?'”—Baby Boomers, Technology, and Multi-culturalism

Picture it:  My husband, Bill, sitting at the kitchen table which doubles as his home office (yes, that’s material for another post), laptop open in front of him, flip phone pressed to his good ear, eyes squinted as if listening intently.

Bill: “Excuse me. I didn’t catch your name.”

(Pause)

Bill: “Yes...uh...Wamika, this is William Chumley. I’m having a little trouble downloading some tax  soft—”

(Pause)

Bill:  “WEEL-YUM CHUM—”

(Pause)

Bill: “DUBYA...EYEEE...EL...EL—” (His volume level has now risen a few decibels. He informs me later this is not due to frustration but rather to a bad satellite connection between Edmond, Oklahoma, and New Delhi.)

(Pause)

Bill: “No, that’s DUBYA—”

 (Pause)

Bill: “No...DOUBLE  YOO as in...ah...uhm...Wamika!” (Eureka! His face lights up, he nods his head enthusiastically.)  “Yeah, yeah! That’s right! Okay. DOUBLE YOO...EYEEE...EL...EL—”

(Pause)

Bill (holding up two fingers): “No, that’s TWO ELs.” (He stops. From experience, I know his next words will be is there someone else I can talk to.) “Is there someone else I can talk to?”

(Pause)

Bill (rubbing his free hand over his face): “Look, this just isn’t working.” (Apparently the connection became weaker at this point because his voice grew even louder.) “Is there someone there who speaks Eng—”

(Pause)

Bill: Yes, but I can’t understand you, you can’t understand—”

(Pause)

Bill: “DOUBLE YOO...EYEE...EL...EL—Oh, for crying—”

(Sound of flip phone snapping shut)

I look across the table at a defeated man, eyes glazed over, flip phone tossed onto the table. He rises and pours himself a cup of coffee, buying time to gather himself before attempting another call. The odds aren’t good, but maybe next time he’ll have more success.

“Why didn’t you hang up at WEEL-YUM?” I ask.

“Because I’d already waited twenty-five minutes to talk to Wamika. I hated to lose her.”

Valid point.



Bill wouldn't pose for a picture, so I had to improvise. Work with me here.