Technosumption

Sometimes, we assume too much. Here is a story that happened to me.

One of the nice things about being a self-proclaimed writer is that you get to make up words. In this case “technosumption” which is a portmanteau of technology + assumption.

I wrote my first computer program in 1966, had my first personal computer in 1979, sent my first email in 1985, had multiple computers networked together at home in 1986 and my first cell phone in 1988. One would believe that with credentials such as these, that I am a “bleeding-edge” adaptor of technology.

One would be wrong, especially when it comes to wireless technology.

Many years ago, I got rid of my old phone. It was activated by swinging it open. It chirped and awaited the key phrase, “Kirk to Enterprise” usually followed by “Beam me up, Scotty; there’s no intelligent life down here.”

Everyone else in the family, including my granddaughters, have been using smart phones for years. I was a Neanderthal, stuck in the 20th century, using a technology that would not have been foreign to Alexander Bell.

But alas, the venerable Samsung was showing its age and was getting grumpy about accepting a charge. It was time to move on. I made the necessary funeral arrangements and sent the device to that great spare-parts scrap heap, wherever it may be.

So it was with great trepidation that I walked into the phone store. The people there (all of them about 1/3 my age) were very nice. They asked me if I needed a new phone, and I said, “Yes. Do you have a model that comes with training wheels?”

They could smell fresh blood and they managed to line me up with a model that surprised me. It retails for $168 and has more whistles than an NBA referee convention and more bells than a medieval cathedral. I got a $168 discount because I was added as a new line on the family plan. Free is good.

The problem was that it was not in stock, so they expressed mailed it to my house. I had to do the setup on my own, over the phone. I used a “lima-lima” as military people call land lines. It was a phone that I knew how to operate. I know I could have gone to the store and they would have taken care of the matter in a moment.

But I’m an engineer, I should know this stuff. The process took about 40 minutes. It would have taken less than 5 minutes if I had the slightest clue as to what I was doing and if my fingers were about 4 sizes narrower. The agent was very patient, and we did get through the process.

One of the things you have to learn about smart phones is when to tap, double-tap, tap dance, swipe and hold (“You have to know when to hold them; know when to fold them.”)

In preparation for my new arrival, I downloaded the 69-page user’s manual and read it with attention usually reserved for dismantling a bomb.

I now know how to use fingerprint identification, navigate using the GPS, voice activate Google, set the phone up as a wi-fi hotspot, and get it to walk my dog. I am very confident with my new phone, and short of physical damage, there is nothing I can do to it that the factory reset button can’t undo.

However, in all of those 69 pages of manual, the one thing they did not cover is how to answer the phone when it rings. It took several test calls to the phone with my wife at the controls to figure it out, and she has a half-dozen years under her belt with smart phones Not all of us are cave-dwelling, technology troglodytes (Or is that techglodytes).

The reason the subject isn’t covered in the manual is because everybody knows how to answer a phone. Hence, techosumption: the assumption that everyone knows the basics of your technology.

Ahoy, ahoy.