IT’S A PUSH BUTTON WWORLD

Okay, I sometimes forget that I’ve posted a blog and post it a second time. So I carefully traced back dozens of pages to previous submissions, and didn’t find it, so I honestly don’t think I’ve posted it before. If I have, well then tough patooties! lol

IT’S A PUSH BUTTON WORLD
C 2011 JoJo

As far back as I can remember, I have had problems with push buttons – don’t ask me why. They confound me – I always push the wrong ones, especially on computers, and suddenly find, to my absolute horror, that I’ve put myself onto some godforsaken site and can’t seem to get myself out of it. Aaaargh!

Unfortunately, we live in a push button world.

Think about it.

For instance: I want to phone Walmart to ask if they have an African Violet that’s white, with a lovely purple edging to it. I dial their number.

“Good morning. Welcome to Walmart. For service in English, press 1. For service in French press 2.”

We’re off and running with the button thing.

So I push 1

“For our location, press 3.”

Cripes, I’ve been going to the same Walmart for 20 years – I know where to find them!

“For our store hours, press 4.”

I know their damn store hours!

“For pharmacy, press 5.”

No, I don’t want the damn pharmacy, last time I looked they do NOT sell African Violets.

“For hardware, press 6.”

I don’t want the bloody hardware, I want the garden centre.

“For women’s shoes press 7.”

And so it goes on and on. You can bet your boots that the last option will be the garden centre and when I finally get through, no, very sorry they’re all sold out of white African Violets with purple edgings on them! AND IT’S TAKEN ME 10 MINUTES TO FIND THIS OUT!

Aaaargh!!

Now let’s say for the sake of argument, your clothes washer has clapped out (or your dryer, toaster, television or any other appliance you own). There’s a 1-800 number, and you know what that means. You will get an incomprehensible Indian bloke with a name like Sunil, Veren, or Tarone who will say with a strong Indian accent:

“Good morning, may I help you?”

At least one has to assume that’s what he’s saying. So you try to explain your problem to him.

Ah yes, your problem is the …”

He goes into a long lengthy explanation – and you don’t understand a word he’s saying! He repeats it – you still don’t understand him.

“One moment please, I will pass you to my supervisor.”

Now it’s hard to gauge what constitutes “one moment” in his mind, but trust me, it’s approximately 15 minutes (if you’re lucky) before his “supervisor” comes on the line. So you sit there, minute … after minute … after minute, phone glued to your ear, while some truly horrible, discordant piece of music blasts in your ear, driving you slowly insane.

When the supervisor finally stops eating his curry, he comes on the line, all bright and breezy.

“Thank you for your patience,” he says.

“WHAT BLOODY PATIENCE?” you want to scream but refrain from doing so and start pulling your hair out, one strand at a time instead.

So you go back to square one and once again start painstakingly telling this “supervisor” (who you’ve been led to believe is wiser and more knowledgeable than Sunil, Tarone or Veren) what has befallen your piece of equipment or appliance.

“Ah yes, I understand the problem,” the supervisor says, in the same incomprehensible accent as his subordinate. He then goes into an even longer explanation of what ails your item, and once again … you don’t understand a word he says.

At this point, you give up and chuck the damn dysfunctional item away, go to Walmart and buy another one.

Now way back when, I owned a Caprice Classic sedan I nicknamed “Nelly.” I loved Nelly dearly. Over the years, she got dings, dents, scratches and ultimately rust all over her chassis, but I loved her just the same. She never let me down, even in the bitterest of bitter Canadian winters. She did have a tendency to fishtail when going around corners on icy roads, but nobody’s perfect.

Take Nelly’s heating/air conditioning system. She had a panel with a single lever half of which was marked COLD and the other half HOT. In the winter, pushing this lever to the beginning of the HOT section produced minor warmth, a little further it became hotter, and at the far end BLOODY HOT for those extra cold wintry days.

In summer, pushing the lever to the beginning of the COLD section produced a nice cool breeze, further on colder, and as far as it would go, FREEZING YOUR NUTS OFF COLD.

Simple, uncomplicated and NO BUTTONS. I loved Nelly. The day she died, I donated her to the Kidney Association. I put her registration in the car, left the key in the lock and walked back into the house in tears. I literally couldn’t bear to see her towed away to the scrap yard.

Today, I own a Ford Taurus Station Wagon. Friends, I counted the buttons on her dashboard today and THERE ARE 30 OF THEM! No kidding! There’s an offon button, followed by a hot or cold button, another for how hot or cold you want it to be, another for how fast you want the fan to blast out air, another for if you want it to go onto your face, another for onto your legs, another for both face and legs at the same time – and sundry other button whose functions I couldn’t even hazard a guess. There are sundry buttons which operate her radio to change stations, but frankly, I have never attempted to turn the radio on! I can barely deal with the temperature controls.

What gets me, is that one is supposed to keep ones eyes glued to the road ahead at all times, and yet be able to find the right buttons to push so you don’t freeze to death, while motoring along at the same time! I am unable to do this, so I fiddle around the dashboard, and sure as God made little green apples, I put the wrong damn buttons over and over again, getting more desperate by the minute!

The only thing for me to do is to pull off the road onto the hard shoulder, take out my reading glasses (needless to say, the lettering on each button is so small you need a magnifying glass to read them) and try to get the right settings before I completely lose my mind, or freeze to death, whichever comes first! Aaaargh!!

It’s a push button world, and I hate it!

God, how I miss my beloved Nelly.
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