“I CAN’T put the pictures on my JCB,” announces a panicked mother via the medium of telephone.
“Where did you get a JCB?” I asked.
“I have it all the time – your father gave it to me.”
“Dad gave you a JCB?” I screeched, before realising there was something terribly wrong with our chit-chat.
“Yes, you saw it at Christmas,” she replied, very matter of factly.
“That’s a USB mother – a USB, not a JCB.”
“Oh yes,” she replied. “I get those two things confused all of the time.”
I did, in fact, see mother’s USB. There was a bizarre incident at Christmas where I, a self-confirmed technophobe, was actually able to upload photographs onto it.
It was an odd moment for all involved, including me, who was baffed by my own abilities.
Unfortunately, there is a downside to being so capable: mother now thinks I am the most computer literate person she has ever encountered.
She has put me on a pedestal most people would normally reserve for Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg when, in fact, I’m more likely to require a special needs assistant just to turn on the computer.
This all started because sister bought her a digital photo frame for Christmas so that she could display the several hundred pictures of Mr T that we all have on our phones and cameras.
I’ve led her into a false sense of belief in my own abilities when, in fact, my favourite means of communicating with my computer is banging the mouse repeatedly on the desk.
When that fails, I like to poke the screen with my finger, and when that fails, I like to ring “Gavan”.
Gavan is our IT guru. You must say his name in hushed tones.
The words “will we just ring Gavan” are uttered several times a day in this off ice.
When I ring Gavan, he immediately sighs. “Did you turn it on and turn it off again?” is usually the first thing he says. Sometimes when we ring Gavan, he’s not in his off ice. This causes widespread panic.
The word spreads like Chinese whispers. “Gavan is not in his off ice, Gavan is not in his off ice – what are we going to do? Gavan isn’t around. Oh, God!”
Other times, we get word that Gavan, who is based in Cork, is coming up our way.
This also spreads like wildfire. There is excited chatter: “Gavan is coming up next week, did you hear? Gavan is coming to fix our computers.”
When Gavan actually does arrive, we are all very hopeful. I half expect him to also offer a solution to global hunger and perhaps world peace.
Regardless, my banging a mouse against a table is not going to make my dear mother think I am some sort of computer messiah.
She has now taken to calling me on a regular basis with technical questions. I’ve spent countless minutes trying to explain to her that my computer expertise starts and ends with being able to send an email, and sometimes I even get that wrong.
“Mairead, I’ve found loads of old pictures on my laptop but I can’t upload them to my JCB so that I can put them on my digital photo frame. Do you know what’s wrong?”
“Mother, I’ve told you a million times, I haven’t a clue and, please remember, it is a USB.”
“But you could do it before? You’re great at things like this.”
“No, no, I’m not. That was a terrible fluke, which I now wish hadn’t happened, even though it did feel good at the time.” “Well, I think you’re great at computers. You have to help me.”
“Well, I just don’t know what to say to you anymore, mother,” I tell her, exaggerating the exasperation in my voice. “Did you try turning it off and on again?”