Remote Control

My father-in-law, like my own father, in fact, like most fathers of the Great Depression generation, was not fond of add-ons.  When asked why he would not include an ice cube maker in the purchase of his brand new refrigerator, he replied, “One more damn thing to break down.”  I did not achieve his wisdom until I reached his age when he made that comment, and therein lies one of the great frailties of the human race—the inability to pass along what we have painstakingly learned to the younger humans in the hope that they will avoid the pitfalls we fell into.

Take our recent challenge with our communication system.  We have a landline as well as two cell phones, one for Polley and one for me.  This is a system which our children consider totally irrational since they see no need for a landline. They use their cell phones to conduct research, settle arguments, play music, entertain themselves with games, and, occasionally talk to friends and family.   I predict that, in the not-too-distant future, all newborn babies will have a cell phone surgically inserted under their skin and connected to the cerebral cortex.  This need to be connected to the rest of the universe every second of every day is, I believe, a genetically engineered desire designed by a collaboration of telecommunication systems and Madison Avenue.

Our landline was modest by most standards, but it still had some add-ons which we rarely used.  For example, we had a Caller ID log, a tracking of who called us.  Because of the Corona Virus Pandemic, we don’t leave home very often, so if I did not answer the phone it was because I did not want to be solicited by the “How to Get Your Hearing Aids Replacement Center,” or I chose not to pick up the phone when the Caller ID identified the caller as Warranty Are US who warned me that my car warranty was up and I could renew it for a mere $500.  Why would I want a log of these calls?

I also rarely used the Intercom system.  I felt it was better for my cardiovascular system if I just got up and walked to the staircase and shouted down to Polley in the kitchen for any information I needed to share with her.

Then there was the Call Blocking System which I infrequently employed simply because it was too complicated to execute.  I was fearful of inadvertently blocking any messages from my doctors about the status of my health or any missives announcing my winnings from the Publishers’ Clearing House.

So, despite the fact that I did not incorporate many of the add on features of my telecommunication device into my daily life, the phone still started to break down. Our system included four headsets.  One day the phone in the kitchen started screaming out for recharging.  We made certain it was appropriately nestled in its holder, but still it shouted out, “Battery Needs Charging!”  “Battery Needs Charging!”  “Battery Needs Charging!”  I looked up in the Trouble Shooting section of the manual how to address this problem (the fact we could find the manual was a cause for celebration!), and the only solution was to buy a new battery.  So I did.  Several days later I inserted the new $20.00 battery, but still the Kitchen Phone still screamed out for energy.   “Battery Needs Charging!”  “Battery Needs Charging!”  “Battery Needs Charging!”  We tolerated this annoyance for about five minutes and then mercifully pulled the plug on Kitchen Phone.  We were down to three headsets.

Not too long after Kitchen Phone’s demise, Family Room Phone developed some sort of lung disease or throat soreness because when one of our children called, they heard static on their hightech cell phones.  Often the only solution to this issue was to have Polley return their calls on her cell phone.  A teenage attendant manning the drive through orders of a fast food chain provided more clarity and less static than Family Room Phone.  Essentially we were down to two phones.

Bedroom Phone developed a tactile problem.  When we tried to answer an incoming call, pressing the “ON” button, the one with the green icon of a phone being answered, did nothing.  It was like shooting a blank.  We soon learned that if one of us pressed the longest fingernail we had into the right upper corner of the ON button, we could answer the call.  This was not the ideal situation.  Imagine a 2 AM call, one of those much feared calls in the darkest hours of the night, and one of us struggling to answer by aiming our fingernail in just the right position.  Bed Room Phone was not reliable in emergencies.  Essentially we were down to one headset, and this was in my den which was not the most convenient location for easy access to answering our phone.  I bit the bullet and ordered a new phone system.

The new phone system had more add-ons than the old phone system—standard.  Connecting the new phones was easy.  We collected all the old phones and piled them on the end table in the family room.  The New Sapphire Deluxe System had a RoboCall blocking system.  If someone called us, our phone would tell the caller to press one of the keys on their phone.  A robocall obviously can’t do this, (sort of like the captcha on websites) so it would be blocked.  But in our high pressured culture where time is a very expensive commodity, we felt we might be imposing on friends and family to take the extra microsecond to press the key so the call would go through.  On page 943 of the manual it provided a way to prevent this.  If the caller was listed in our directory, then they would not be challenged by our Call Blocker.

So I spent two and one half-hours entering the names of friends, relatives, physicians, accountants, pharmacies, manicurists and other contacts we considered integral to our well-being.  Amazing how so many of our time saving devices consume so much of our time.   While I entered the data into our new phone system, Polley gathered up the old phone system and threw it into our trash bin next to the garage.

About an hour after we settled in waiting for our new phone system to ring, it rang.  We hoped beyond hope that it would be a robo call, so we could wring our hands like the Wicked Witch of the North and watch it be rejected.  And our dreams were answered.  One ring, our all Galactic Call Blocker determined through its fool proof screening system that it was a robo call and rejected it.  We sighed and crawled back into our books.

Another hour later, our eyes weary, we agreed to turn on the television and watch MSNBC.  We looked around and could not find the television remote.  Panic began to set in.  I don’t think I know how to turn my television on without the remote!!!  I do not know if I can.  We searched every room in the house, including the most illogical places, like the basement.

I could hear my father shaking his head in disappointment.  “So, you can’t watch television, eh?  In my day we didn’t need images.  We made our own as we listened to the radio….Gangbusters, Jack Benny, The Shadow.  And when we finally got a television, to change the channel we actually had to get up out of the chair and go and turn the dial.  Yes, we had to stand up and walk over to the tv set to change from Farther Knows Best to Gunsmoke.

Then we would sit back down until your mother said, ‘I can’t hear it.’ And one of us would have to get up again and actually walk over to the tv to increase the volume.

And we did it, without complaining.  It was good exercise for us.  But you and your candy ass generation are too dependent on remote this and remote that.  You sit in your comfy cushions and change from Keeping up with the Kardashians to Love After Lockup.  What are you going to do now?  How are you going to watch The Price is Right now, smart guy?”

What was I going to do now?!!  Polley and I retraced our steps for that afternoon, and the revelation came that possibly, just possibly, she might have picked up the television remote when she gathered the handsets to throw in the trash.  To her credit, she retrieved the plastic bag from the garbage bin, brought it into the kitchen and started sifting through the discarded coffee grounds, wet tea bags, used napkins, year old refried beans that we had just discovered in the freezer, and damp sugar substitute packets.

There….at the very bottom of the trash pile, lay the television remote.  I cleaned it off as best I could.  I still caress it gingerly with my thumb and forefinger, promising my remote I will never throw it in the trash again…until we get a new television.

Life has settled back into the New Normal.  We have fewer phone calls now, especially in the middle of Jeopardy, and I have to get my exercise in other ways, like on a stationary bike, but I look forward to the days when I can tell my wide-eyed grandchildren, “Yes, indeedy, in my day, we had to use devices called remotes to change channels and change volumes and everything.  We didn’t have no fancy-schmanzy voice controlled everything, where you just tells your device to do something and it does it.  the only exercise you get is for your vocal cords. No sirree, in my day we actually had to do a lot of clicking in them days. It was good exercise.”