People aren’t near as annoying as machines
Last week, I was standing on the boardwalk in Ocean City, explaining to the little one that it was almost time to go home. Home to our hotel room or home to our red brick house, she wondered. When I confirmed it was the brick place, she said, “Then on Monday I will go back to school and they will all say, ‘Look who’s back! It’s Grace! We missed you.’ And then everyone will give me a hug.”
If that happened here in the workplace, I’d bolt for the door, fearing this had become the Stepford Paper. No one expects their office to be as warm and fuzzy as a preschool but somehow I wished that I could just ease through the door on Monday mornings rather than being assaulted by florescent lights and ringing phones with callers demanding to know, “Who wrote that editorial? And what gives you the right to say that?” Just for Mondays, I’d like to hold off having Constitutional discussions before lunch.
These were the thoughts that flitted through my brain as I watched Grace get her welcome back hugs and ventured into the office. The only other person in the newsroom was another returning vacationing soul who had caught a nasty cold and was in no mood for niceties. Pushing aside the piled up papers and mail, I turned on my computer. It looked weird. I could tell someone had tampered with it because the icons were all stretched out and fuzzy. I put on my glasses and the images didn’t clear. I opened up a couple programs and it got worse.
So I called The Keeper of the System, who wouldn’t answer his phone. I thought I would work through this, but I couldn’t. On stepping out my office door, I saw The Keeper down the hall and charged after him.
“What the (bad word) happened to my computer?” I demanded to know.
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened to it. You guys were all complaining that pictures blacked out so we installed new video cards,” he shot back. His posture was that of don’t bother me now. You do not top the list of problems. My posture was that of fix it now.
“Well I can’t see. Everything is too big,” I said insisting that he look for himself. And off I charged back to my office with The Keeper in tow.
“See,” I said while plopping into my chair. “It’s broke.”
“Move! Get out!”
We swapped places and 30 seconds later the problem was solved. I was mollified by the quick repair but mortified that in less than two minutes that restorative effect of vacation can be reduced to bad language and even worse manners.
The Keeper and I ran into each other later that day and agreed the morning incident had never occurred and that had we been sufficiently caffeinated it most likely would not have.
As jobs go, mine isn’t bad. Sure it comes with a built-in stress factor and sometimes I think my door ought to carry the sign “Complaint Department,” but it’s relatively sane compared with The Keeper’s position.
I’ve figured out that people can excuse other people for most shortcomings but have little tolerance for machinery breakdowns. That’s the stuff that causes our blood to boil until we curse profusely, kick tires, punch vending machines and wish for sledgehammers to smash computers. Someone must pay!
The Keeper and His Faithful Assistance spend their workdays hunted by office workers suffering from machine-induced rage. The more computers, software and occasional virus that finds its way into our plant, the heavier the workload. That they remain sane and for the most part cheerful, is a mystery.
There are groups that study office rage and conclude that bullying and gossip tick people off but that is relatively minor compared with hostility over broken computers, haywire copiers and the like. This stuff really irritates us and is the prime reason we all need vacations and cringe when folks like The Keeper take one.
Should The Keeper take some time off, I’ll remember upon his return to say, “Look who’s back! We missed you.”
Luanne Traud is the Herald-Standard’s editorial page editor. E-mail: ltraud@heraldstandard.com.