Tag Archives: technology

Delete My Computer, Please. Confessions of an Administrative Aide

RailTrail morning (MikeAndbergdeskplaque) 005 B&WIt’s the first day of my new job. I stroll the clean, quiet halls en route to my office. It’s a long walk. On the way, I see workers in their offices, sitting at desks, bodies visible, but heads obscured by the back of their computer, almost as if the computers were their heads. Well, this isn’t right. I’ll never learn the names and faces of my new work associates doing this, will I?

My own room is cute, although windowless, about ten by ten feet. My boss greets me there, glad to finally meet the person who’s filling the long-vacated position.

“Hit Control-Alt-Delete,” she says, standing over my shoulder by my desk.

That’s funny, I never have to do this at home, and I can’t find Delete anywhere on the gigantic, trumped-up keyboard I apparently have to use here. I find Delete, but try to press all three Control, Alt, and Delete keys simultaneously with one hand and, like failing to play an octave on piano, I hit a sour note on my first job responsibility.

As the day goes on, it’s difficult to accomplish any work. Short of my bathroom break, everything  here is done through a computer. Everything. Any file I’m looking for is in a file within a file within a file within a file, sandwiched between Excel spreadsheets, distribution lists, PDFs, Word documents, technology files, room reservations, timelines and countless other folders. My search for a sense of Control has already been filed under Lost, no doubt sub-filed under Technology.

Anything this computer can do, I can do better. Example: my PC’s office calendar system that magically links everyone’s schedule in my department with each other. I’m not impressed. First of all, by the time I get to the computer calendar with new dates to add, I’ve either forgotten the date, the subject, or both. Worse yet, the computer’s design makes each week’s grid and each person’s calendar look the same. It’s only a matter of time before my doctor visits will be plastered all over the boss’s agenda. I sketch my own calendar on a scrap of paper and hide it in my desk drawer. Far more effective. Confidential. At my fingertips. Surge proof.

Meanwhile, unresolved office emails and phone tag games go on all week. If I merely walked across the hall, couldn’t I personally answer all these people in about five minutes? But no, that’s not the way it’s done anymore. If I had a window in my office, I’m sure I’d be tempted to jump through it about every hour.

I make calls from my office to other companies to update files: No one who was working at these companies a year ago is working there now. Where have they all gone? Were their jobs like mine? Did they leave from job dissatisfaction? I don’t get it.

To keep my job, the handiest survival tip I’ve used has been to write down all tasks that require three steps or more. As sure as the photocopier will go down when we need it most, I will not remember directions beyond three steps. Period. I secure an old Rolodex from the mailroom to organize the fifty index cards upon which I’ve scribbled instructions of three steps or more. They’ve been real ass-savers.

My boss is out sick today, and I’m asked to review all her email for important correspondence she may need. There’s a hundred emails. What madness. And some are personal, and I sure as hell don’t want to discover what I don’t want to know about her or anyone by snooping through their email! After all, isn’t there’s some confidentiality agreement in my job description?

I’m proud of the way I’ve learned to prioritize office duties. The most important thing in my job is knowing passwords, usernames and codes. Actually, they’re the most annoying part of my job, but taping passwords to the wall is handy and I’m far less aggravated by them in doing this. I refer to passwords, usernames and codes an average of twenty-eight times a day. Sure, they’re visible for everyone to see on the wall, but it’s less important strangers see them than I do not. Without my passwords, I might as well go home. Otherwise I can’t do a thing on either my PC, desk phone, company website, Facebook, and a zillion other things.

For some reason, I’m getting really behind. So, the last thing I want to do is spend time on the tutorials I’ve been encouraged to view. The first was on Excel spreadsheets. Then Abobe Creative Suite. Then In Design, whatever that is. But I did see the tutorial about our operating system. So confusing, the company kindly hired out a technology consultant to get me straight. That was back in the beginning before anyone knew I’d need a computer personal trainer.

Yeah, I do get a little sloppy sometimes. There’s no telling what keys my fingers just slid across by accident. I’m somewhere between a loose cannon and someone who can’t get out of his own way. Because of this, I’m paranoid about clicking Forward by mistake when replying to someone by email. Or clicking Select All. Or Reply All. Click the wrong button, and X might see a string of correspondences attached to my reply where Y and Z had been cc’d and X doesn’t like Y and Z said something bad about X last month. I make phones calls whenever possible, being sure to talk very carefully and very slowly.

It’s only natural I look for any physical duty there might be to do around the office now. I volunteer to tack flyers to the bulletin board. Photocopy documents. Staple handouts. Hole punch binders. File folders. Pick up mail. Open the new water jug. Walk receipts up to Finance. And, on the way, walk around and personally respond to everyone’s stalled email and phone messages!

An optional staff development invite pops into my email. I jump on it. Anything to get out of the office. But the seminar, “Decreasing Job Dissatisfaction and Improving Workplace Productivity,” could help me, too. Is there something I could change to make my job easier? Modify about my attitude? Wouldn’t it be nice to be so efficient that I alternate one good habit with another all day long?

The job dissatisfaction seminar leader begins the two-hour discussion with, “First off, I strongly recommend you get rest on weekends.” Come on. What else ya got?

“All that work on your desk? Remember. It’ll still be there tomorrow.” Right. It wasn’t done yesterday because it wasn’t done the day before that either. And, yes, it’ll still be there tomorrow. Help.

“To assist in organizing your day, start with the end first.” Apparently, there is no end to my job, so to backtrack from something that doesn’t exist is insane.

“Despite what we’ve all heard, there is no such thing as multi-tasking!” Oh, right. My job is predicated on the multi-task principle, and everyone else’s, too. I feel no more relaxed or productive now than when I walked into this room.

It all comes down to this. Your boss emails you something to be done. You do it. You email it on. That person sends it to someone else who does something with it, mostly to get it off his back, then on to someone else. She sends it to her boss who looks at it and sends it to someone else because she has rank. Somehow, someway, it may eventually come back to you, at which point you place it in your “To Do” file. I’m aware of this pattern, yet I am still ranked only as an Administrative Aide.

Confounded by yet another day of computer curve balls, I summon the IT Department. They send me a student-level tech person. In less than one hour, he teaches me things I’d never dreamed were possible on a computer! A genius, and only nineteen. It’s obvious to me he could do my job, and in half the time. What’s he doing in IT? What am I doing here?

The best thing this young tech has taught me as an Office Administrative Aide? When to hit Delete.

It’s nice to have gained control again. No passwords required either.

 

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Stories From Maybe Boomer: Compassion, and Befriending “It! The Terror From Beyond Space”

Paul and I perused the channels on my family’s ultra-modern new television set hoping to find a great color show. Zippo. Every progarm was in black and white. I wanted to impress Paul, my new companion, and so far, the Quasar – Motorola’s beautiful twenty-four inch console set – was letting me down.

Things changed at precisely two o’clock.

“Oh, wait, flip back. Flip back,” Paul said.

I cranked the Motorola’s spiffy all-metal dial back one click to the opening credits of a movie.

It, the Terror From Beyond Space! This could be cool,” I said.

“Look, look how clear the title is,” Paul replied. “You’d never be able to see that on your old Silvertone set.”

So blown away by crisp picture quality, we’d forgotten the fact the movie was in black and white. We didn’t care. The alien creature creating havoc inside the spaceship’s darkly-lit hull devoured our attention. To us, this standard 50’s sci-fi flick was a classic.

Halfway through It, I cried out, “Look at the scales on the monster’s skin!”

“And look! Look! There’s a zipper!”

“What?”

“On his back …”

“It’s really a rubber suit …”

“It can’t be …”

“It’s a rubber suit!”

“It’s so fake …”

“And look, now he’s picking some guy up …”

“And twirling him around …”

“Like he’s gonna heave him …”

“But it’s so fake …”

“Just showing their shadows …”

“I know …”

“Instead of them …”

“I know …”

“So the zipper doesn’t show …”

“I know …”

“I hate that …”

“I know.”

“I hate that.”

“Me, too.”

However, It got clobbered in the end. But what a bad finale that was. The monster was our hero. How could the American astronauts, dressed in hokey space suits, zap It before he reached the ship’s cheesy-looking control room to eat everyone in sight? I was so let down.

After Paul went home, sudden pangs of nostalgia came over me for the Silvertone set my family had owned forever. It sat in the corner of the basement now, unplugged, abandoned, collecting dust. The beautiful, ash-colored television had once been the family’s universe, producing a relentless drone close to sixteen hours a day. Occasionally, Dad had spoken over the Silvertone in anger when its fifteen inch screen shrank to eleven by nine after the horizontal and vertical holds got their way with things. With the all-encompassing love for our new Motorola, I knew the Silvertone’s worn-out tubes and technology would be hauled away soon.

Sure enough, a few weeks later, the set was gone. Both the Silvertone and It had been beaten by technology. Just as the creature was left alone to decay on Mars’ barren landscape, I imagined the frightening sight of my cathode comrade dumped in a landfill somewhere, disrespected, with no funeral service conducted or head stone prepared. I’d have appreciated its ashes being put into a nice urn, or a Kool Aid pitcher if we couldn’t afford the urn, or at least sprinkled around the Quasar as a respectful remembrance. I would miss my companion terribly. After all, before Paul, the Silvertone was the best friend I had.

This is an excerpt from my memoir, Maybe Boomer. The post honors the fifty-seventh anniversary of It! The Terror From Beyond Space and its August, 1958 debut.  Note: the film takes place in the “far off future” – 1973!

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Screen Test

people with cell phones 002B&WI was walking a beautiful, chamisa-lined bike trail through my neighborhood the other day – vivid colors, pleasing odors, sounds of soaring birds everywhere.

Cutting across the trail, apparently en route from school to their homes, two young boys wandered together, saying little to each other, listening to the far more important sounds reverberating from the older boy’s handheld electronic device. “Gotta get you some weed / gotta get me some weed” was all I heard the singer rap through background music that sounded no finer than what a Fisher Price keyboard could produce. The youngest boy, about seven, looked up to the twelve-year-old and his video screen often. Both meandered on, heads glued to flashy images, ears attending solely to the song.

Later in the day, strolling through the vibrant Santa Fe Plaza filled with people and activity, I noticed a teen sitting on a bench by herself, immersed in her own world, never looking up from her iPhone screen. It was as if a fifteen foot bubble existed around her, keeping out a world of invaders who might enter her space.

Perhaps she was actually trying to connect, not disconnect from the world. It’s the way it’s done now, through a text, a Facebook message, a tweet, a whatever. In the act of finger digit communication, however, it seems everyone who is making these connections is alone while doing it. And perhaps the boys I saw walking through my neighborhood earlier were good friends. Yet, in their wordless comradeship, electronic images and words – some entertaining, some very dangerous – were bombarding their young existence.

And here I am right now, and have been for many hours, writing in the privacy of my own room. I have the convenience of my laptop to connect with my website, Facebook, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Google+, sending my thoughts out to the entire world of people. Not only that, but I’m connected to my bank and a myriad of businesses, making my life easier to manage. Who really needs face time, anyway?

I had fifty years of non-tech living, fifty years of making contact “the old-fashioned” way through one-to-one friendships and relationships, assisted only by a telephone to call someone about getting together later. Call me a betweener, a man sandwiched like a floppy disc between toast and tablet, but I am concerned for those who have used modern technology their entire adult lives; even more the kids who have been raised on it. Electronic devices at first seem to expand, if not improve, connection with others. But kids and teens are all over these devices and I wonder about the quality of their connections made.

What  a mess kids of techie parents must be. Electronic gadgets will be all those kids ever know, right? And what about the Steve Jobs of the world? Their kids must have every gadget imaginable to use.

Not true. Steve Jobs didn’t help invent the most amazing technological devices because he was stupid. In a recent revealing New York Times article, author Nick Bilton writes how Jobs and other tech CEOs put serious restrictions on their kid’s use of technology, not vice versa. These entrepreneurs say they’ve seen the dangers of technology firsthand – the bullying from other kids, pornography, and kids becoming addicted to their devices. The CEOs agree children under ten are the most susceptible to addiction. Some CEOs don’t allow their children any gadgets during the week. Some don’t allow screens in the bedroom. Some allow unlimited gadget use so long as their kids are in the living room, but that’s all. And, perhaps not surprising at all, Jobs said he made it a point that every evening the family ate dinner together to discuss “books and a variety of things. No one ever pulled out an iPad or computer.” The tech industry giants have been smart enough to realize not only the rewards from technology, but the danger they present to kids and adults alike. But what about all those who not only use devices daily but rely on them for business as well as social and deeply human needs?

My downfall from electronic advancements was television. To this day, I wonder if I’ve learned just as much about life from watching characters and stories presented on a screen than I have from real life experiences. I’ve logged a lot of home television and movie house screen time. For the same reason today’s kids love to focus on a screen, so did I. So perhaps it’s only suitable I use an example from a movie to help amplify the issue of tech devices in our world.

Catching me totally off guard when I saw it five years ago, I was blown away by the film, “Disconnect.” It’s about kids and adults who are all attached to their cell phones and gadgets and can’t find the time to communicate with their families. There’s a couple who’s drawn into a dangerous situation when their secrets are exposed online. A widowed ex-cop struggles to raise a mischievous son who cyber-bullies a classmate. An ambitious journalist sees a career-making story in a teen that performs on an adult-only site. With so much technology at their fingertips to connect in today’s wired world, they are still strangers, all whose stories collide with explosive and sometimes tragic result.

This week, I feel I’ve witnessed a hollowness that real flesh and blood people in my very own neighborhood are feeling. In my gut, something feels wrong to me. I’m torn between two worlds, yet cling to the one I know best, the old-fashioned variety, all while realizing I’m writing tonight in the comfort – and isolation – of my private world, relying 100% on technology to get my message out.

Using a word check to review this writing, I’ve just been alerted I’ve used the word “connection” far too many times. But that’s not surprising. Human connection is, and always be, one of the greatest needs we have, in whatever form it takes. Yet, even in our modern world, it’s difficult to avoid fuzzy connections, both electronic and interpersonal.

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