TECHNOLOGY PART 2
Despite what you may think after reading yesterday’s post, I’m hardly a Luddite when it comes to embracing technology.
The term, “Luddite”, was given to a group of 19th century textile workers in Britain who smashed their new, mechanical looms. This was done in protest over the machines replacing them in the factory. Their uprising became synonymous with protests against the changes wrought by the industrial revolution in general.
While I don’t condone destruction of private property, I can readily understand the sentiment. No one likes being replaced by a machine, especially one that’s prone to breakdowns. It’s natural, given our reliance on modern conveniences, like automatic Twinkie® makers, to resent the little buggers when they don’t work properly.
Technology has brought us a lot of labor-saving devices. Without cars we’d hardly be the mobile society we are today. And it’s a good thing, too. Personally, I couldn’t handle a mode of transportation involving an animal that defecates at will.
However, not all technological advances are good ones. The advent of magnetic tape, hard drives and computers has certainly allowed us to store and retrieve more information, faster. But we are drowning in all this information. I guess that’s why my doctor spends the majority of my office visit staring at a computer screen rather than looking at me.
We’ve become victims of information overload. There’s just too much data to absorb and analyze. That must be the reason why the customer support people I deal with over the phone are curt and nasty. You’d be too if you had to sift through volumes of customer information before you could begin to tackle an issue. And that’s before they’d had their morning coffee, too.
In the company I used to work for, if my computer crashed I’d call their technical help-desk for support. It was hit or miss, even on a good day, as to whether they’d actually be “helpful.” But at least I was able to speak with someone local, live. The support technician would listen patiently to my problem, consult a manual or his supervisor, and offer solutions until the problem was fixed.
So now, I have a problem with my computer. But it’s my own computer — not the company’s. I’m supposed to use the manufacturer’s web-site first. I need to search for my problem and see if there’s already a solution. I’m starting to panic because I don’t know what kind of problem I have. Even if I did, why should I waste my time trying to look it up?
I’m getting mad because I don’t see my problem listed anywhere. I’ve already tried searching for it under every combination of letters and words imaginable. So, since I can’t resolve the issue myself, I need to call their support hotline.
It’s a domestic, toll-free number. But I can tell by the whistles and clicks on the line that my call is being transferred to some overseas sweatshop.
The phone rings and rings. I give it some time as I know the one person manning the sweatshop is probably out to lunch. I finally get this gal on the phone who doesn’t speak English or if she does, I can’t understand her.
I keep asking her to repeat herself and then, slow down and repeat herself again. This really pisses her off. I can tell, because the words I can’t understand are now totally incomprehensible. Before I can protest, she puts me on hold.
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