By Regena Handy
We all know the best stories are the ones that can’t be told, for the most interesting ones always involve other people.
Oh, we can claim the oft used ‘remain anonymous’ refrain to protect the guilty but in small communities where everyone knows everyone else, it is pretty easy to finger the culprits.
Some of my most entertaining stories are from 32 years of working for county government. Lots of interesting moments when one works with the public on a daily basis. I’d never betray any confidences I held over that time but I sure will tell a funny story or two on my former co-workers and myself.
The year was around 1987 and we were being forced into computerization. I can just imagine some young person—“Forced? Forced?!” The boss at the time asked us why we were so opposed to the change. One reply was a basic lack of understanding as to how computers operate.
In the very succinct way the Boss had of wording things, he answered, “You probably don’t understand how a phone works either, but you use one all the time.”
So specifications were drawn, bids were taken, and contracts signed to launch us into the computer age. Boxes and boxes of equipment arrived, followed by smart young people who installed it all.
Included in the specs was a required number of hours of hands-on training. Thus an extremely spiffy-looking young woman from Northern Virginia dressed in an expensive suit and heels that made my feet hurt just at their sight showed up to do just that.
One of the offices was designated as a training area and she settled in. The plan was to work with small groups all the while leaving others available to keep the office running.
I was in the first group. The young woman gathered us around the bright blue computer screen and began talking an unknown language. All kinds of stuff about icons and programming, hardware and software, RAM and micro and macro and megabytes. Floppy discs. Mouse. DOS. Windows. Apples and Macintosh.
She was scrolling through this program and that program, clicking on various things, all the while explaining at warp speed.
I held up my hands, palms towards her. “Stop. You don’t understand. You need to start with how to Turn It On.”
Bless her heart (a term I do understand), she looked at us as if she had entered a planet of aliens. Which was probably pretty much the way we were looking at her.
After a few more hours, I think she decided we were a lost cause so she told us that the best way for us to learn was just to play with the computer. Just play with it, you can’t tear it up. Now, readers, it is important that you remember this last part.
We took her at her word. Soon we were typing documents, learning to format, save, edit, etc. Often, as time allowed, two or three of us would work together, learning from one another. One day we decided we had stored a bunch of practice stuff that probably should be deleted.
So we did, skimming through the list, removing various items. Suddenly two words were flashing at us. Bad command. Bad command. And the screen went black.
We did the only thing we knew to do—we called the lady from Northern Virginia and ‘fessed up. There was silence on her end, then an incredulous “you deleted the command system!”
Our answer: Well, you said we couldn’t tear it up.
