Of technology and ‘progress,’ from a dinosaur’s view

So I’m a dinosaur. A relic. A fossil. Call me whatever you want, but yes, I’m not a big fan of technology.

This makes me a bit of a hypocrite since I preach being open to change, the necessity to adapt when I’m at work. But when it comes down to it, I feel like I get used to something just in time for the next evolution or upgrade.

I remember when my dad got our first car with electric windows. It was a vintage T-Bird and I was amazed that you could make a window go up or down by using a switch. I also remember dad in the garage, on his knees, cursing as he took the door panel off. He had driven home in a Washington state downpour with the window stuck halfway down. I would repeat that scenario later in life as I purchased my own cars with electric windows.

Then there was the high-end Chrysler my buddy bought in the early 1980s that talked to you. Leave your lights on, doors open — whatever — and some disembodied woman was nagging you about it. One day there was a glitch and suddenly she became a very excited Japanese lady. It was funny for a while, and he would intentionally leave the lights on or some such just for the laughs of being cursed out by the invisible foreign lady. But after a few days he refused to drive the car until it could be repaired, which cost a hefty sum, of course.

And then there were the cars that I had to drive with my knees against my chin because the electric seat broke. These days I try to get my cars with manual windows and seats and as few electric doo-dads as possible, which is dang near impossible. Salesmen look at you funny if you ask, “Do you have this with manual windows?” After recovering, they lead me to the back where they keep the buggies and horses.

I can use a computer. Heck, I’m using one right now to write this column. It’s not a big deal since it’s not much different than my old electric typewriter. But yes, I can surf the Web and use the various programs we have at the office. My older friends think I’m sort of computer guru because I can use one. Truth be told, I would rather put my boot through the stupid thing than try to figure out why this or that isn’t working. My trusty old file cabinet has yet to “lose” a file! And remember when we were told that the age of computers would see a drastic reduction in paper usage and we could all go hug a tree? Wrong! We now use paper greater than 10 times more than we did before! My office alone slays entire forests every day (I get consolation that we all keep recycle bins at our desks and all paper waste goes into a recycle shredder at the end of the day).

Remember the first time you went to your favorite grocery store and they hit you up with the stupid club card nonsense? I refused. I simply changed stores. Then they got a card, so I changed stores again until I ran out of stores. Well, almost; there’s still Three Bears, thank goodness. The big chain stores told me that the ridiculous card would give me access to savings. And they’re right, because they jacked up the prices on everything to obscene levels if you didn’t get the dumb thing.

They held my jar of pickles like a hostage: “Get the card or pay $30 for this jar of pickles!” So you have to give them your name, address, phone number, blood type, mother’s maiden name and how often you pick your nose to get this card to add to everything else you already pack in your wallet or purse.

And then there’s the real reason they want you have it. We know dang well stores force us to get that card so they can track our every purchase and figure out how best to pull more money out of our wallets every chance they get.

My wife recently got me a new phone. It’s my first “smartphone.” I think they call them that because unless you’re brilliant, you have no hope of using it. While everybody else ran out and got these things, I was still using my old flip-phone. People talked to me about “apps” and all the wonderful things their phones could do. I used mine to make phone calls. When I was really feeling high-tech, I would text. Took me years to break down and try that, but I actually kinda liked it. I can send messages to the people I didn’t really want to talk to.

Now I got this big, clunky thing that doesn’t fit in my pocket so well. When I use it, I feel like I’m holding a desk calculator up to my head and talking to it. To dial or otherwise perform some task, I have to rub my finger all over the screen, which leaves this nasty trail of fingerprints all over it. I used to yell at my kids for drawing on the condensation on the car windows, now I have to draw swirlies all over my stupid phone just to make a call.

When I retire, I’m going to live in a simple log home. I’m going to drive something from the 1960s. I still have an old rotary phone around here somewhere (I wonder if there’s a way to hook it up). I’ll shop at Three Bears until that store breaks down and tells me to get some dumb card unless I want to fill out loan paperwork in order to afford a gallon of milk. My grandkids will complain about coming to my house because it’s so boring. It’s gonna be great.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column under the tagline “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.