Get Netted

Get Netted!

Small, sleek, smooth, and seductive the dark red object begs to be opened. Inside is a vision of the universe and the hint of possibility beyond. Inside are images of the world which take the breath away. Inside is scientific discovery of a magnitude never before envisaged. Inside is knowledge, knowledge so vast that a human lifespan could never discover it all.  Inside is the sociologist’s macro and micro - the scale of humanity, the enormity of life and the minutia of all. Inside is a qwerty keyboard in all its glory.

Inside is an Intel Atom processor and all of the electronic gadgetry and wizardry required to produce any type of document, chart, spread sheet, or power point that I could desire. Or there would be, if I’d paid for it, but I didn’t, so Mr Gates or his sidekicks, will only let me have a little trial version insofar as they can advertise on it.

This is my new, small red netbook, the result of a hard fought battle between tiny technology or touch screen rapidity. Netbook or ipad. Netbook won, obviously. This is my new toy to aid and abet my dream of being a writer. This is the result of an epic battle, not only between choices of technology, but between consumer and provider, customer and seller, me and the sales boy.

Not salesperson, not salesman, but quite definitely sales Boy. Of course anyone under thirty is boy to me when you add up my years on earth. To the sales boy, anyone of my age carries certain characteristics. We conform to a stereotype, especially if we are, dare I say it, female.

You see, women of my age, caught mid-way between fifty and sixty, shortish, blondish, fattish even, are undoubtedly stupid and misguided and badly in need of the attentions of a sales boy.  Usually the attentions of boy-men are a source of amusement rather than flattery. This sales boy was not of the flattering type, neither was he amusing. He was just exasperating, annoying, insulting and confusing and he almost undid my resolve never to hurt anyone deliberately. He buzzed around me throwing questions into the air not waiting for them to land before he threw the next one. I resisted the urge to swat him, and swat him hard with a verbal put down that would stun him into silence and then finish him off with a quick blow to the psyche that he would never recover from.  Instead, and to cause him no offense I played the game.

So what happened?

I went in to a large and well known store near to where I work on a reconnaissance mission. With the help of a very sweet young lady I investigated ipads and net books until deciding on this one – the one on which I type now. Last minute indecision meant that I called back the following day to make my purchase, having a last look at the choices on display. I didn’t see him until he spoke

‘Do you need any help at all?’

‘Yes. Thank you. I would like to buy this net book’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, this is the one I want’

‘What would you be wanting it for?’

‘Knitting’ I replied ‘Knitting and making macaroni’ (I made that up, I really said ‘for word processing, for creative writing’)

The sales boy told me that I didn’t want a net book at all. If I would like to follow him he would show me what I wanted and he walked around the display to the lap tops. He explained that they were portable and much, much better than a net book. I began to realise that he thought I was computer illiterate at best, absolutely stupid at worst. I explained that I wanted a very small machine and he clearly didn’t believe me, again showing me a lap top.

‘Small enough to go in my handbag’ I said helpfully.

‘How big is your handbag?’ he replied, so I waved it at him. Tiny, Kipling. Cerise pink… really consolidated my either blonde or old persona.

Explaining that I already have a lap top of my own, access to two others, a PC t home and a PC at work eventually convinced him that I knew which size of machine I wanted. Just then my phone rang.

‘You’ve got an iphone!’ he exclaimed. At last, in his reckoning I moved into the 21^st Century but swiftly fell back out when he questioned me about it.

‘I can get you a great deal, an upgraded phone and that thing there for half price’

I didn’t want a new phone. I wanted a small red net book and eventually I convinced him.

A minor spat ensued regarding windows installation and internet security, except he didn’t call it that and gave it a brand name which I didn’t recognise. Taking a guess at his meaning and being exasperated beyond belief I told him that I could extend  security from my home computers (yes, plural)for seven pounds. He assumed I meant household insurance.

‘No’ he said, ‘you don’t understand. Do you have a garden ? Well, in your garden you have plants that you want and plants that you don’t, you can’t help the ones that you don’t…….’ I butted in and stopped him and but for the arrival of another sales person, would have told him to stuff the little red net book into any area able to accommodate it. , We then entered the battle of the Microsoft Office. I didn’t need it, but caved in under pressure and regretted my weakness (returned it for refund the next day’).

I’m a teacher. I can patronize to my heart’s content but I respect my learners, so I don’t. He clearly had little to no respect for any intelligence I might have. He asked another sales person to handle the sale.

‘Please set this up for the lady’ he requested ‘It’s only £70 today but would be £100 if you couldn’t manage it yourself and had to come back’.

Astonished I declared that I could indeed set up a PC and install programs. He stepped back in disbelief.

‘Are you sure? You need a user name and everything.’

I am no longer sure. I am a mere whisper of the person I was when I entered the store. I do not possess a degree in social and political theory; neither do I have two further professional qualifications. I am defeated. I give up and behave like I am expected to, like an idiot, and I go to the till and pay my money and get out of the experience. He doesn’t get to set it up though as I fib and say that my husband can do it. I so obviously cannot.

What is it about me that signals my stupidity? What is it about me that marks me as an incompetent customer and an incapable consumer who needs little boys to take over and think for me. Well, nothing actually, the mistake was all his.

The fact that you are a Fones4U boy, interfering in the business of the real sales people tells me that you didn’t do so well at school. Come to my college little man and I will show you how to REALLY treat people with intelligence – intellectual and emotional. You’ll like it. You might learn some manners.

This was to be a really witty post. It started off Ok, but dwindled into whinge mode as I remembered how much fun I didn't have buying this net book.