Tech Savvy I am Not

What is it about “smart technology” that makes me feel so inadequate? Incompetent? Plain outright lacking the sense of understanding. 

I”m 68 years old. I earned my college degree. Granted only a Bachelors degree, no Masters, no PHD or Doctorate, but I paid my own way through six years of college to attain my four year degree in Accounting. Isn’t that like a 50% increase? Pretty damn good, no?

After graduation, it was something like the Seven Dwarfs sang, Hi Ho, Hi Ho "It's Off To Work I Go" which I then spent twenty-eight years preparing financial statement, doing bank and credit card reconciliations, payroll, and ultimately being responsible for a 440 store chains inventory valued at approximately $300 million dollars. Phew. Oh, you three readers who are clapping… No applause needed. 

Back to this smart technology. It’s making me feel so dastardly deficient, discombobulated and disgruntled?  

So, last Friday, my wife and I drove to Maryland, 152 miles, 2 hours 15 minute ETA in order to watch Jackson, our grandson. The reason being, our daughter and her hubby had plans with friends and neighbors to attend a concert. No problem, any excuse to hangout with Jackson works for us.

This two hour fifteen minute ride took over three hours because of blasted summer traffic. STAY HOME PEOPLE, I’M IN ROUTE TO SEE JACKSON. YA’LL GO TO THE BEACH ANOTHER DAY! YA HEAR!

Well we arrived at Cindy's house 4:15, said our hellos and out the door they went.

“Bye. Have fun. Don’t drink too much. Be careful. See you in the morning…” yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. The typical mom and pop send off. No matter how old they get, they’re still our kids and don’t know any better (until the day comes and they have to take care of us because we’re too damn old).

When 5:00 pm rolled around we promised Jackson we would take him to Humagalas, a local restaurant for dinner (he loves their sliders).

We all get our shoes on and head out the front door. 

“Hey, Deb. Did Cindy give you the house keys,” I yelled over to her.

“No.”

“How are we supposed to get back in?”

“Good question.”

Good question. Thanks, babe.

Their front door didn’t have a key lock. Honestly, the door hasn’t had a key lock since soon after they moved in, four years ago. 

Just like throughout the house I had to talk to someone named “Google” to turn on specific lights, ceiling fans, temperature control and the camera in Jackson’s room. These were the controls we knew about. Who knows what else lies in fate with Ms. Google. 

We couldn’t go without locking the door or having a way back in. 

“Why don’t you call Cindy?” Speaks the voice of wisdom.

“Yea, Poppa. Call my mommy.” Speaks he of five to me of sixty-eight.

“Great idea, guys. Thanks.” Duh, like I hadn't thought of that. Sheesh.

After a brief phone call and about six attempts to lock and unlock the door while on the phone with my techie daughter, it failed.

“Hey, Cin, I’ll just take a garage door opener with me. It’ll be easier. You still have those, I hope?”

“Dad. Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

Hmmmm. It's a very good thing I love you, sweet daughter of mine.

“Grab the remote, then I’ll lock the door from my Apple Watch. You guys can leave. It’ll be fine.”

Easier would have been if you had a key.

Needless to say, I found the remote, buried in a box in the mud room. Then off we went to Humagalas (the restaurant). 

We grabbed a table outside. Jackson enjoyed his sliders and French fries. He played in the small playground (that’s why we ate outside) mingling with 4-5 other kids, got drenched in sweat, then we headed back to Cindy’s house.

We pull in the driveway, lo and behold, what have we here… the front door is ajar. It’s about halfway open.

What the f…

“Stay here in the car," I said.

Like Rambo invading a North Vietnamese prison camp to rescue American POW’s, I rushed into the house. 

A few minutes later, I walk out the front door, head held high, my chest puffed out. “It’s safe, you can come in.”

I’m guessing that I tried the four digit password on the control panel so many times, maybe I confused the lock's brain and when Cindy went to lock it, miles away from home and through her watch, it didn’t take. Yes! One for the old man!

I think I’ll remain stuck in my ways. Let the world pass me by. The next time we have the opportunity to watch Jackson, I’ll ask for the garage door opener from the get-go.