My apartment complex is geared toward people of retirement age. There are a few Gen Xers and millenials, but they're a story for another time. The majority of residents are in their 60s, 70s, and 80s, and when it comes to technology, some of them may as well be living in the Dark Ages. They don't get it, and don't want to. Trying to explain, much less teach, technology to some of them is like trying to nail Jell-O to a wall. These are “old” people, and by that I mean just a few years older than me. There's "old" and there is old. Geez! If you ask some of them about social media, you're just going to get a blank stare like you're speaking Swahili. They don't know what a blog is, or how to use email. They probably think I'm practicing Voodoo when I pay my rent or order groceries online. If you mention scanning to them, they're going to run away from you. Many of them have smartphones, but they're strictly to make calls on. And even that can get problematic.
Ruby, Opal, Jade, Sapphire, and Pearl get together every afternoon for a gossip session. And let me tell you, these ladies can judge a person and rip them to shreds in a hot minute. They're in everybody's business and have an opinion on everything and everyone. And you'd better believe they believe their opinion is the only one that counts. I think that if they heard someone passing gas too loudly in his own apartment, they'd bang on the door and demand to know what on earth he's been eating. They're like their own little religious order, trying and judging, pronouncing sentence, and excommunicating and shunning anyone who doesn't agree with them. Some people refer to them as the Big Sisters of Little Mercy. But today, they're ripping technology.
Opal: I had to text a code to the box office this morning to get a discount on my play tickets.
Ruby: I didn't know you knew how to text. Is it hard?
Opal: Not at all. I went and got that young girl, Kate, to send it for me. (Kate is 63)
Jade: Don't feel bad, I can't text, either. I tried it once and found out it went to the mayor's office. And the teensy keyboard isn't anything like high school typing class. If your fingers are bigger than Thumbelina's, you just can't do it.
Pearl: Yeah, I don't know how they expect us to figure out where to send it. How the heck do you get the message to the right person? Do they think you're telepathic or something? Or maybe the phone is?
Opal: Shoot, that's what I have Kate for. She was pretty huffy this morning, though. Said she'd already showed me how to do it 5 or 6 times. And she did, but it's just way beyond me. Welp, if she doesn't want to send my messages, I can always get one of the other kids to do it.
Sapphire: True, but you probably ought to learn how to do it yourself. Me, too. I feel kind of silly having to ask other people all the time how to use my own phone. It's all Greek to me. I swear, these smartphones are the devil's work, if you ask me.
Ruby, Jade, and Pearl: Amen!
Sapphire: Tell it, sister. Hallelujah! There shouldn't be all this computer stuff all over the place. It's evil, I tell you. All these computers and genius phones and tablets and the like. We don't know what's inside those things!
Opal: Amen, sister! And now the manager wants us to start emailing instead of calling her all the time. And did y'all get the memo about scanning documents instead of bringing them to the office? Lord have mercy!
Jade: Amen. That woman needs an exorcist. And you know that snooty Marsha up on the 5th floor? She drinks, you know. I see a wine bottle when she takes her trash out every week. Anyway, she just got one of those gadgets that you tell it what to do and it answers you and does what you told it to.
Ruby: No! Why, that thing could murder her in her sleep one of these nights. We ought to get up a petition for the manager to ban all this evil stuff from the premises before we all end up going to h-e-double hockey sticks. Let's join hands, ladies. We've got some thinking, praying, and planning to do.
No comments:
Post a Comment