The Accidental Computer Scientist

Back in the mid 90s my wife, Christine, and I were living in a small one bedroom apartment. I toiled away all day on a Unix based mainframe terminal. She used a computer at work for scheduling, presentations and email. One day she announced that she really wanted a home computer. I resisted. This may seem odd today, but back then a personal computer was still a relatively new appliance. I spent all day in front of a screen doing numerical analysis. The last thing I wanted was to get one for our home, but Christine insisted,

"We need a home computer."

"For what?" I asked.

"Well, when we run out of syrup, you can logon and enter it in a grocery list," Christine answered thoughtfully.

Back then whenever anybody talked about personal computers, they would invariably mention the grocery list. In those days the biggest problem plaguing mankind was the lack of an adequate means of tracking staples. That and the hole in the ozone layer. No one ever said,

"With a home computer you'll be able shop online and stay in contact with all your friends."

All of that came much later. Printing out a grocery list via an expendable ink cartridge and consumable paper was the technological achievement of its day. As far as I recall no one on the planet ever actually made a grocery list on a computer.

Cabbage Patch

Eventually I relented. We went to a big box store where the purchasing was frenzied. People were buzzing about, scoffing up anything piled up on display. The last time I saw that kind of unfettered purchasing people were trying to get a Cabbage Patch doll. Caught up in the madness we dove in and surfaced with a Compaq Presario as our selection. Three thousand dollars later we were on our way home with several large boxes. We set up everything, piled a stack of manuals to one side then flipped the switch.

The boot up procedure involved a flashy presentation highlighting all the features of our new personal computer followed by the smug smiling face of Dennis Miller sauntering onto the tube screen. Dennis was sent in to walk us through the setup procedure. Not the old Dennis Miller with the gray goatee we have now. Back then we had the wavy haired fresh off Weekend Update young hopeful Dennis Miller who thought he would have a much more lucrative career in Hollywood post SNL. I always hated Dennis Miller. I thought he was a pompous asshole who tried to come off like an intellectual even though he graduated from a liberal arts school that no one ever heard of with a degree in journalism. Now, he was running his mouth on my new computer helping me set up AOL and configure the modem. I have no patience for this kind of thing especially when I am being directed by a smarmy pretentious asswipe.

Dennis Miller

Miller said things like,

"Hey, Cunningham. Andy Warhol called. You're at 14:55, and we're tickin' big-time here, Chachi."

What the hell does that mean? Anyway after some basic settings Miller starts pushing America Online which I decline. He said something like,

"So you don't care for AOL, babe? You don't mind being left behind by the techno tsunami like Mr. T after a long evening sleeping through Aida."

Dennis and I moved on to the modem. He had me enter simple things like the phone number and select pulse dialing, then he said,

"You're burning through this like a rabbit with a three day pass and front row tickets to the Ice Capades."

What's that supposed to mean? Miller laughed with an ingratiating priggish chuckle, then the modem test failed. As I struggled to get the device to work, Miller said,

"This is a little like watching Mohatma Gandhi arm wrestle the Dalai Lama for a signed picture of Lance Armstrong."

Huh? Dennis Miller based his career on being obtuse as if doing so makes up for excessive partying in college and selecting a major popular among potheads. The string tones of the modem echoed in our small apartment as we tried another test after changing a few settings. The modem failed yet again. Miller exclaimed,

"Looks like someone has to go back to geek school."
 

I began to wonder about the wisdom behind the management decision at Compaq to play a video of an insolent dickhead as a welcome to a product costing thousands of dollars. The desktop finally booted up, and I grabbed for the mouse. Next came the blue screen of death which I carefully read through because I thought it was more setup instructions.
 

The Blue Screen of Death

Now we spent a heap of money on a pile of electronics, and we were unable to configure the modem or gain access to the desktop. In desperation I called my internet provider which Christine set up in advance. They blamed both Compaq and Microsoft and in general were no help at all. I turned to Christine and said,

"Let's just put this whole thing back in the box and take it back."

"Give me a minute," she deflected.

"This is not us," I pleaded, "We like the outdoors!"

It was a beautiful sunny summer Saturday. I wanted to go to the park and play Frisbee or the beach and ride some waves. Christine, sensing mutiny, reached into the stack of books and pulled out a manual at random. Searching for a toll free number, she dialed the first one she found. Christine called the help line to Microsoft Network. A very skilled young man walked us through the proper procedure to get the modem working. When he finished, he asked,

"Now that you can get online you want to sign up?"

"Sign up for what?" I asked.

"MSN," he answered.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Microsoft Network."

"Thanks but no. You've been way more helpful than my internet provider."

If Christine would have pulled out the Windows manual and called their toll free number, they would have charged us $35 to get our brand new modem working. That would have got that thing on the curb in no time, but she inadvertently reached a guy from MSN who was trying to get us to subscribe, and I naively explained that he was way better than our internet provider. He got nothing for his efforts, and I got my new computer up an running with no help from Compaq, Dennis Miller or my internet provider. The only person who helped us was someone trying to hawk a membership to Microsoft Network.

Our new computer fatally crashed at least once a month requiring a full restore which forced us to sit through Dennis Miller's condescending advice every time. It was beyond painful. His monologue was as awkward as Elizabeth Warren explaining her Native American lineage. Eventually we gave that computer to our neighbor's daughter who was just starting college. Later propelled by the technology industry as well as our home PC we both went back to school for a masters degree in computer science. I published papers at leading software conferences. For a few years I taught masters level computer science courses at a local college.

Our oldest, Aidan, went to computer camp in the summer ever since middle school. Our dinner conversations often involve the finer aspects of software engineering. In a day and age when the vast number of college freshman are majoring in finance or psychology, he spends his time programming in Java, Python and C++. Recently, he was hired as a moderator for the discord server associated with the jazz band, Lucky Chops. He's sixteen and a junior in high school. We'll never know if Aidan would have discovered a talent for software development in eighth grade if on that fateful day Christine hadn't pulled that particular manual from the stack.

In truth I have become someone who hates technology. Having to cycle the power to devices to get them to work correctly really chaps my ass. We reboot computers, phones, televisions, the cable modem, the router, even the oven in the kitchen, all to clear some error code to get something working properly again. I had to cycle the power to our pool pump this morning to restore the temperature reading on my smart phone. Imagine that. I had to reboot my pool. Far from making my life more convenient, I have become a slave to technology.

And now that I said that, my last comment will likely trend on social media as culturally insensitive.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on April 4, 2017.