Digital Distress

I guess the question is who will kick the bucket first?  Those digital drama queens (aka digitally controlled devices) or the aging human beings who live here?

Will we be the cookers or the cook-ees? The doers or the done-ins? It’s a toss up, at best. Most days it feels like they’re winning.

We recently bought a new toaster oven. It was mis-delivered by Fed-Ex to the church next door and then graciously hand-delivered by the pastor to our doorstep. I made the assumption that the new toaster oven, by virtue of its circuitous route to our house, had been blessed and would be a joy to own. We had not counted on its being “digital.” Fifty-seven pages of instruction! We’re talking toaster here!   Bread, bagels, English muffins. Not spread sheets or power point presentations. Today’s toasters are, apparently, seeking to elevate their status in the world.

You are welcome to my printer. Just know that it comes with a deeply imbedded vocabulary which might be considered harsh and offensive by some. It also has a very low opinion of itself. Which is actually exactly what it should have given its level of disobedience.

My IPhone sits in a corner. All by itself. Siri doesn’t like me and I don’t like her either. She claims she can’t understand me. Well, right back at you, Siri. That’s okay. Two women in a household usually don’t get along very well anyway. Nothing new there.

The computer has a “systems preference” button. My preference is that its systems work. Period.

And then there’s the digital bathroom scale. Accurate to a fault. Once upon a time you could jiggle a little thingie on the scale until you were happy with what it told you. There’s no jiggle in digital.

I scream at those programmed objects but nothing happens. Except a spike in my blood pressure and heart rate.

I long for easy. For simple. Is it too late to ask for something with one little knob? One that controls the offs and ons, the louder, softer, warmer, cooler?

Yes.

It is.

Way too late.

So what are the odds? Them versus us. Your money, or your guess, is as good as ours.