And after all, everyone needs a few
flaws to make them real. Helen Simonson, Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand
I walked into one of those big box electronic stores and
looked as lost as I could. I’ve found over the years that when a customer looks
lost, there is a great parting of the employee seas like unto the days of
Moses. One group flees the floor like blood-sucking parasites from Fido’s flea
collar. The others draw near in hopes of being of service.
It occurs to me I have gotten to the age where technology
gurus know two things for sure. First, I know nothing. You can explain a
product or a process as if to a kindergartner, and the child will know what
they’re saying light years ahead of me. Secondly, they know (or at least
suspect) that I am at the age where if I’m not living out of my car, I likely
have disposable income, and there is nothing sweeter than the tingle-bleeps of
the cash register.
They hope, of course, that I’m there to buy a 65 inch
monitor (back in the day, they were called televisions, but now they’re
monitors, video displays, or anything else that hides what all they can do).
Why such a big TV? Well, I’m old, and my vision isn’t what it used to be, and
so it would be helpful to take something home that will allow me to see what on
earth I’ve been paying my entertainment provider to send me.
Sadly, I wasn’t there to lay out any Benjamins for anything
that would challenge the nation’s power grid (or help my vision). I walked in
with a twenty year old remote control for my father’s twenty year old sound
system. He and I had put in fresh batteries, but the old remote was deader than
dead, so I took on the challenge of finding something to replace it for him.
My great fear was that years and obsolescence would have
made finding an appropriate replacement controller highly unlikely. After all,
the remote’s serial number was in Roman Numerals … carved … in stone.
Never-the-less, like any politician worth their salt, I persisted. I strode up
to the store’s greeter and asked where I could find remote controls. He looked
at the paper weight in my hand, stifled the guffaw that was building steam deep
in his belly, and pointed me toward the back of the store where the Video
Components were lying in wait.
I nodded my appreciation, toddled off, and found a dizzying
array of remotes from which to choose. Lacking a mentor, I was tormented with
confusion and indecision. Fortunately, Sales Associate Libby was nearby, saw
the tell-tale twitches of a sensory overload, and came to my rescue. I showed
her the dearly departed device I needed replaced and confided it was not a
product of the current millennium. She offered her condolences and pulled a
remote off the kiosk in front of me and suggested it might well do the job. She
admitted that not all remotes are as universal as they claim to be, but she
assured me I could bring it back if it didn’t work as promised. She also
pointed out the list of brands the remote worked with and, lo, the coal-fired
amp in question was on the list!
I asked Libby about the other, more expensive devices and
asked what they offered that the one she handed me didn’t. She shrugged her
shoulders and said, “Nothing.”
Imagine that; a sales associate who let me buy the least
expensive item that would do the job! Will wonders ever cease?
I sometimes find myself discouraged with the state of the
world. I’m sure I watch far too much news; it has a toxic effect, making me
cranky and pessimistic, and that’s not good. That’s why I appreciate (and need)
to get out and do things for others. For one thing, it gets me out of my head.
For another, it connects me with others who actually have a desire to be
helpful – who are genuinely friendly and honest.
There is something detoxifying with such encounters, and I
think that gives me some insight into the mystery of the resurrection. It makes
life just a little nicer and less remote in this, our valley.
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