EUSciFi Competition Runner-Up: Technology
February 24th, 2010 Posted in CompetitionOne of the three runners-up in our EUSciFi competition.
Technology by Eleanor Horn
Old people just can’t work new technology. It’s a fact of life. No matter who the old person is and no matter what contraption they are trying to manipulate, the result is always the same. A worn mind leads to a lack of understanding, which manifests itself as a general dislike towards technology, and finally the decision not to use technology at all, much to the despair and exacerbation of young people.
It is only now that I am beginning to understand the chain of events being in my middle years and trying to work out how to switch off this ridiculous flashing and noising machine. It was attempting to tell me that I was tired and that I should go to sleep, by measuring serotonin levels or what not. I think, having regulated my sleeping patterns for 65 years, I don’t need a machine to help me. I switched on the TV using the old style remote control (none of this microchip in the head rubbish) and flicked over to BBC1 Scotland, to see Bruce Forsyth, now 135 years old but only 13.5% of his original DNA, showing off as usual with some poor Scottish sidekick outside Edinburgh Castle. At least it is sufficiently distracting to calm me down after having finally taken the batteries out of my ‘SLEEP-O-MATIC SERIES 3.
Who designed this idiotic device anyway? What a stupid concept; it was most probably designed purely to make money. They just designed something that people would blindly think is “essential” in their life, and try to sell it for a few hundred pounds a piece, for a bit of electricity and metal to tell us what we can feel ourselves. Or a pair of emotion recognition sunglasses to tell us what mood our friends are in today. Or a personality robot determining the job that is most suited to us. And no matter how much technology is stuffed into our lives nowadays, there is still no technology in the world that can yet discover someone’s name and how they are feeling that is simpler and more effective than good old human conversation.
Though I guess I’m being a bit of a cynic. I’m glad I didn’t just dunk my SLEEP-O-MATIC SERIES 3 into my fish tank for it to short circuit and sputter to its end like I wanted to. Susie would ask me where it was and would want to see if it still worked properly, in that girlish excited way of hers with sparkly eyes and a naive smile. This wasn’t the first thing that she’d bought me in an attempt to make her old grandfather into a techno whiz despite his obvious reluctance. I wrapped the SLEEP- O-MATIC SERIES 3 into its protective vacuum packaging while the Scottish sidekick chattered to old Brucey about the latest version of e-reader,
“It’s fantastic Bruce. You pop the goggles on and there you are in the scenery of your chosen book while the story happens around you. It’s memory and battery life are ten times better than the previous model, plus a £100 discount if you are under 18 or a full time student!”
E-readers: Now there’s a thing. I remember in 2008 when I was just a boy, adverts in the windows of Watersones on Princes Street. ‘ New e-readers! Stores 100 of your favourite books, all in one convenient pocket sized database! For just £99 it could b yours today’. I remember thinking along the lines of this being the coolest thing ever, and that I must get one no matter what, despite only owning about 10 books at the time. I pleaded with my mother and plagued my father to get me one for my birthday. I even saved up my paper round money to contribute to the then expensive gadget, which wouldn’t even buy one paper back book today. They sneakily told me that I could only get one once I had enough books to fill it up with; that is when it began.
I started to buy interesting looking books from charity shops, so I could boost my book numbers up and because they were inexpensive. I never intended on actually reading any of them. However on one cold grey day in November, as was so typical for winter weather in Edinburgh, I missed the school bus home, and ended up having to wait for my dad to finish work at Standard Life before he could rescue me from school and take me home. I was frustrated that the school didn’t think I was old enough to get a service bus by myself to the ‘oh so scary’ land of Stockbridge. Of course, being an 8-year-old boy, I was easily restless and needed something to occupy my agitated mind. It was then I remembered I had brought in one of my infamous unread books for Library Time that afternoon, which had undoubtedly remained as unread as the day of its purchase. Although I thought that in these desperate times (such as waiting with Mrs. Fraser) I might as well give it a try. It was boring and difficult for the first chapter or so, but stern glances in my direction spurred me on to continue, and so I persevered. I guess I must have been more into it than I thought, because when my dad came for me two hours had passed without me realising.
Now books are my passion in life. Real books. I soon discovered that real books had an irreplaceable quality to them that an e-reader could just not satisfy. The art of studying real books and writing by hand is what I fill my days with. I used to love going into the library at George Square and wandering though their fantastic collection of books to prepare for my students. As a lecturer in the History of Scientific Literature it didn’t feel like work at all to roam the shelves and pick out books here and there to have a metaphorical nibble at. It saddened me greatly to see the library gradually turn into a giant computer lab with only one tiny section dedicated to real books. And to think nowadays they don’t even teach children to write properly. Their education is filled with keyboards and only the odd lesson in how to write the alphabet, in the “old fashioned” way. It was a shock to see that my Susie could type her name and the names or her family before she even mastered writing the letter ‘a’ on paper.
Again I caught myself being cynical, and decided to stop being so gloomy by putting on a CD of The Kaiser Chiefs which reminded me of when I was young and actually knew what was popular. Susie would probably say something like,
“Why do you listen to these old bands with all those clumsy real instruments, like guitaros and drummys. In fact even those CDs that their music is on are clumsy. Don’t you want me to buy you an mp5 player for your birthday? Oh it would be so cool, and it could be blue and say your name on it and…”
She would chatter on about some nonsensical idea of getting me yet another piece of technology that was a “must have” for survival. Oh Susie. I doubt she would ever stop trying. I don’t want her to stop trying. I don’t want her to have to stop…I’ll need to make that appointment soon I think. I have to give in. For the sake of Susie I have to overcome my fear of technology and compromise my morals. I will have to go with the treatment. The revolutionary “gene therapy”, the same as old Brucey had, that would ensure my survival past the end of the year. But I’m willing to do it so that I can continue being baffled by all the new gadgets and gizmos that Susie will buy me. I will attempt to cure my phobia of technology.
