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Computer help comes from afar

By MARLENE SOKOL, Editor
Published January 4, 2008

The biggest dork in the world is on the phone with India while crawling under a computer desk with a stick-on light.

Child One is trying to wake herself up. Child Two is away on a trip with his Hebrew School class.

Dork Mom is trying to post to her New Tampa news blog (cheap plug, it's blogs.tampabay.com/newtampa), but the month-old wireless router doesn't work so she keeps having to disconnect it, which means the house has only one working computer and Child One demands access to it at all times.

So, in the final days of the calendar year, Mom has consented to call the router company for help.

This follows several calls to the cable company, which tested and tested and said oops, it's your router, and we can't help you because we didn't install it, so you thought you'd be a big shot and spend $59 and do it yourself.

The call to the router people begins like they always do, with touch one and touch two and then finally, when a live person emerges, an endless set of questions about your name and phone number and e-mail.

It's all asked with a thick accent that has Mom asking, "What? What?"

Until we get down to business.

Unplug the router. What does it say? Unplug the modem. What does it say?

There's Mom, crawling around with that little light, because a bulb burned out in the desk lamp and everyone was too lazy to go downstairs and get a new one.

Turn on Internet Explorer. Go to Tool Bar. Go to File.

The Yahoo page comes up, but the favorites are gray.

The home pages come up, but you can't surf them.

The woman in India - we presume - is patient and deliberate. Slowly, Mom gets used to her accent. Stops asking, "What?"

Unplugs the router, unplugs the modem, goes back to Internet Explorer. Time passes unrushed, as Child One takes a shower and Dad goes for a run.

After a series of tests that is impressive in its logical progression, the voice from India - again, we presume - perks up.

"You have the Internet cord in the ethernet slot."

What?

"It should be in the slot all by itself, not in the one with the numbers."

Mom is as relieved as the technician that the trouble seems to be a simple mistake committed by someone who was trained to research and write, not wire things together to save a few bucks on the cable bill.

They unplug everything, put the pieces in their rightful places and, lo and behold, the Internet works.

And it occurs to Mom, over these many (well, it seems like many) minutes that calling India used to be a punch line. It didn't take long for it to become a tired punch line. Like buying from China. Duh. And it occurs to her, during that time on hold, that she would love to know more about the technician. How much does she earn for doing what she does? How long did she go to school? Is she really in India? What part?

Although Mom is a professional reporter, it seems rude to ask these questions.

She tests the Internet. The Internet works.

"Just out of curiosity, where are you based?" Mom asks.

"India," the woman says.

"What part of India?"

The woman tells her a long name that Mom is unable to recognize, then adds that it is near Bombay. She also says Mom will receive a survey in her e-mail that will ask her to rate the technician on a scale of 1 to 5. "You'll get a 5," Mom promises, and the woman laughs.

Child Two has been learning in school about the global economy. As if he weren't growing up in it.

Mom feels, once more, like a dork.

Because she just realized a country is not a punch line.

[Last modified January 3, 2008, 22:55:21]