A few minutes ago, the Sears repairman called. (It was a male voice, so I can dispense with politically correct gender neutrality; this repair person is definitely a repairman.) He said something like, "Mrs. Andrews? This is Sears Home Repair. You called for service on your washer? Just wanted to let you know that I'm on my way to your house now."
At least that's what I think he said. I only know it was Sears because the caller ID on my phone flashed "SEARS HOME SVCS." What I heard was something like:
"...drews? Th....rs Home.....called.....asher? Just....you know....way....house now."
Actually, it was longer than that, and involved me saying? "What? You're breaking up!" several times, and him repeating bits of his spiel, and even then I was only able to decode what he said because I was expecting a call about the washer from Sears between 1 and 5 p.m.
Why do cell phone companies keep adding more and more luxury features to phones, like photography, games, web surfing, musical ring tones, and who knows what else? Why don't they spend a little more time working on the core function--being able to make a clear, ungarbled phone call regardless of your location?
Or am I the only person in the universe who finds talking on cell phones a major pain? Who has yet to have a single clear, coherent conversation over a cell phone? Arg.
(The Sears repairman just asked for bleach. Which isn't something I regularly use on my laundry. Could have sworn I kept some around for cleaning purposes, but can't find it. Apologized.
"How urgent is it for whatever you're doing?" I asked.
"It'll smell like a sewer in here."
Great.
Of course, it's probably a lot worse for him that it is for me. I have a cold right now. Unless I fix a steaming cup of hot tea, I can't smell much of anything, and even then, the relief would be temporary. I'll stick to cold drinks for a while.
Adding bleach and that spray that's supposed to neutralize odors to my grocery list.)
I admit, I'm warming to my new cell phone, which is noticeably less annoying than my old cell phone. Still falls far short of the ease and comfort of a land line. I can see the convenience--when I'm traveling, I love having it; it's very useful for the Sears repairman to be able to call me to say he's on his way, and for me to get the heads up. But I can't imagine talking on it for pleasure; most of the time, if I'm talking on a cell phone, my goal is to finish my conversation and hang up as soon as possible. And some of my friends have given up their land lines entirely in favor of cell phones. The quality and reliability will have to get a whole lot better before I'd even consider doing that.
(After an interval in which muffled thumping and banging noises emerged from the basement, things have grown quiet. Too quiet. Should I venture down to see if he's been overcome by the fumes? Does this mean I have septic system problems? And if so, did the washer cause them or did they cause the washer problem? Or is it just that washers allowed to brood untouched for a week with undrained laundry water in them take on a sewerish smell?
Oh, good. Thumps, and the sound of running water. Better yet, the sound of the washer agitating. The repairman is well, and perhaps now my washer is, too.
Standing by to hear the diagnosis.)
The whole cell phone thing seems symbolic of a lot of what's wrong with modern technology. Cell phones get smaller and smaller. Yes, early cell phones were a bit clunky to carry in your purse or pocket. But the distance between the human ear and the human mouth has remained roughly the same during the life of the cell phone, so beyond a certain point, the shrinkage only exacerbates the problem of people shouting into their cell phones and annoying everyone around them.
On the other hand, things that could benefit from being smaller--Microsoft Word, for example--keep growing and growing, without any discernible benefit to the average user.
Discernible or discernable? My spelling goes to pieces when I'm sick. And Microsoft Word permits either, when according to my paper dictionary, only discernible is correct. This probably means that I have accidentally added discernable to my dictionary--probably on a day when I felt about the way I feel right now. Word doesn't care, though it does nag me to capitalize both of them if I'm starting a line with them. Moronic program.
My particular pet tech usability peeve at the moment is with VCRs. Whose idea was it to put most of the VCR controls on the remote? An object that tends to disappear for days on end when it's only me around the house, and vanished entirely after several days of having my twin nineteen-month-old nephews in residence this summer. I had to buy a replacement remote to regain the ability to set my VCR to record while I was away or change channels by punching numbers rather than going up one channel at a time.
If I were chairman of the universe (or even of Sony, Microsoft, or Motorola), these things would be a lot more user-friendly.
(Meanwhile, the repairman has departed. It was only a broken pump. He recommends running a cup of bleach through the washer before using it. Off to the grocery store to buy bleach. And then maybe I'll see if I've dirtied a whole load of laundry. After a week and a half without a working washer, the ability to throw clothes in to wash any time I feel like it feels like a fabulous luxury.
Bleach and cough drops.)
