It’s taking a while for the internet to penetrate all our lives.
An artist pal of mine, BG, who looks and sounds exactly like Mr Burns of The Simpsons, has bought his first computer and a 56K dial-up modem. He usually calls the computer “The TV”, which is a good indicator of his understanding of technology. Now he wants me to teach him how to email. This is the sad story of that troublesome day.
Scene: A dark room in BG’s house, wherein the dreaded new computer lurks. Hundreds of Art History books line the walls and are flung over the furniture with old teacups dotted about. The leftover space is full of paintings. Ronald Searle would have felt at home here. A tall thin balding figure, BG, sits at the desk, preparing to connect and download his emails. AB, a ginger-haired woman of pleasant demeanour, is seated nearby, a resigned expression on her face.
AB: (With false cheerfulness) Right! You understand so far, yes? We’ve now connected your modem to your telephone line. This is a necessary step to connect to the internet.
BG: Wait, wait. Explain again. I don’t understand. How can all my emails fit into this little modem? And now I think of it, why don’t the f****g bastards just design a modem with a lid, then you could get the emails out yourself without all this f*****g fuss.
AB: No, the modem doesn’t contain the emails. It acts as a link to the server. The emails are kept on the ISP server until you download them. (Too late, she sees her mistake …)
BG: What eye-pee servant? Do you mean a servant brings it on a forked stick? How do they get the stick through the modem? Why cant I just send that lazy f****g k*****r girl Caroline to the post office to fetch it? I’ll take the forking stick to her one of these days, then we’ll see who’s got pee in the eye.
AB: (sighing, but still game). Don’t worry about ISPs and servants. Just use the mouse to point and click on the ‘Send and Receive’ button. You remember, last time and the time before and the time before we went through the same thing.
BG: Oh yes, I remember I wrote it down somewhere….just let me find it… (scrabbles through a sheaf of close-written papers, old envelopes and shopping lists while BV looks into the middle distance, thinking of honey still for tea).
BG: OK here it is. But why do I have to click that one? Why hasn’t the modem got a clicking place? Look, if I just tap on the modem with the forked stick, maybe the emails will come out.
AB: (Becoming firmer) Listen. We’ve been through this ten times before. Just click on the send and receive button, BG……….No, just click on the bloody send and receive button, BG…….. Why?? For christ’s sake, BG, yours not to reason why, yours but to do and die …(What am I thinking? Stop me!) JUST CLICK THE F*****G BUTTON, BG!
BG: Don’t go so fast. Let me write this down….(licks pencil, writes laboriously)
Ten minutes later:
AB: Ok, got it down? Ready to click the send and receive button now?
BG: Yes. Wait, don’t tell me, let me do it on my own….I hold this round thing, the rat or mouse or whatever. Then I wiggle it about a bit. Hey… What’s that funny arrow doing moving about on my screen? (becoming increasingly anxious) There’s something wrong with this f*****g computer! Its got an arrow floating about on the screen…I’m going to take this f*****g computer back to the shop! Its faulty! WHERE DID THAT BLOODY ARROW COME FROM, WHAT’S IT DOING ON MY COMPUTER? IT’S FALLEN OUT OF THE ENGINE! I THOUGHT I HEARD A RATTLING NOISE! MAYBE IT GOT THROUGH THE MODEM!
(becoming uncontrollably hysterical)
STOP THE F******G THING! HOW DO I STOP THE F*****G THING?
IT’S LETTING ARROW GERMS THROUGH THE MODEM!
BG beats the modem with a handy forked stick until it’s reduced to a dangerously sparking electronic mess with wires haywiring everywhere. He peers at it carefully.
BG: Bloody f****g hell! After all that effort, there aren’t any emails in the f*****g modem. A lot of help you are.
THE END, not to mention The End.
