Hello Future

Hello Future

It all started with a cat’s whisker. They gathered around in the sitting room waiting for it to begin.

It was cold and near to freezing outside, the 14^th November 1922.

“Sit quietly now,” the father said. The mother and three children sat quietly because they were about to hear something for the first time. They all had earphones on and all eyes were on a small wooden box. On the top of the box sat a coil with twists.  There was a galena chrystal and something called a diode and most important of all, there was a cat’s whisker.

The cat’s whisker was on a little handle that had to be moved around until you got the sound.

“Hush, it’s time now,” said the father. It was 5.33 pm. They all hushed and while he moved the whisker around they suddenly heard the first BBC broadcast.

“2LO, Marconi House, London calling.”

The first words from a Public Service Broadcast.

Ninety years on, it was a child’s voice, part of Damon Albarn’s collage, saying

“Hello Future, I hope music still matters because music is everything. Without it there’s nothing; just silence.”

Then they heard the chimes of Big Ben and the sounds of birdsong.

It was Children’s Hour, between the dark and the daylight.

It was a cat's whisker, that perhaps heralded a new technology.

Sally had to face the music, a music of a different kind.

It happened a long time ago, when she was fifteen. Fred her big brother had finished his Master’s thesis on the nocturnal habits of the Aardvark. He was in his final year at University of Cape Town. Steeped in all things relating to Africa, he had made the ant and termite eating Aardvark the subject of his field of study.

Sally was sitting in front of the computer they shared in their study when Fred walked in and said,

“What are you doing Sally?”

“I have pressed delete on this page. It asked me if I was sure and I pressed ‘Yes’ I wanted to see if I could get a blank page on the screen.”

“ My thesis was on the screen what have you done?”

Fred peering at the screen looked for his thesis and saw that it was gone .

“Let me have a look.”

 He tried out several steps, then said,

“Yes it’s gone for good, with my bibliography. You are a complete stupid ass, Sally! Don’t ever touch the computer again, without my permission.”

“Oh I didn’t mean to do it Freddie,” Sally’s face crumpled and the tears started to flow.

Fred gave her a furious look, then turned and walked out of the room. He felt an urge to do physical harm to his own sister. He would have to rewrite his whole work, a work that had taken so long to write. What was especially hard, was that his bibliography had disappeared along with his thesis. He only had some scrappy handwritten notes to work from.

“I know you’ll never forgive me, and I will never forgive myself.”

Sally’s feelings of guilt remained with her. A lifelong fear and loathing of computers was born.

In her present job with Evans, Jones and Smith, a legal company where she had worked for one year, Sally was happy with her paralegal work that involved fact checking and research using journals and newspapers which arrived on a daily basis for the firm’s library. The fact checking was necessary because there was so much ‘Fake news’ being distributed.

It was Monday morning, the start of a new week. The phone rang.

“Morning Sally,” it was the voice of the senior partner Mike Evans, “would you step into the boardroom for a few minutes?”

The four partners were seated around the table.

“Take a seat and we’ll explain why we called you. We have decided to make your life a lot easier and are in the process of buying a computer to help you with fact checking and research and sending out documents by email.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about computers and see no need for one. Is my work not satisfactory?”

“Your work’s fine but we have to keep up with the times. Computerisation is the way to go. Once you get used to it you will see how much faster everything is.”

“Is there no way I can change your minds? I would prefer to carry on without the assistance of a machine. A computer will not make my life easier.”

“Afraid not,” said Jason, the second senior partner, “it’s already in the pipeline and your computer arrives tomorrow when someone will install it for you. Don’t worry you’ll soon get used to it.”

Back in her own office Sally sat down shakily. This was one thing she had never expected. Her work required hours of patient checking in Journals, newspapers and on the telephone and she enjoyed it. They were hours that gave her satisfaction and pleasure.

 Two days later she felt unable to cope with anything. Her world was falling apart.

The screen was blank. It was black. There was no sound, signal or picture.

Picking up a leaflet on her desk she read the instructions,

“ ‘Leave the signs in place and try the links provided,’ ” Read Sally,

“Wrong page!” She muttered to herself. Turning to the index she found this:

“‘Starting up: The fan operates when starting up when there is no fan sound it is not starting up. If any foreign water has entered the appliance, contact your nearest service centre.’”

The translations from an eastern language to other languages had obviously been beyond the powers of the translator.

“I feel like smashing the whole thing against the wall, the manual is a total disaster. Nothing makes any sense.”

“Now, now Sal, this won’t do. It’s no use taking out your anger on a mere machine,” said Adrian, the company bookkeeper who was walking by. He was a middle aged, mild mannered man, stocky, with wide shoulders and chest that gave him a look of dependability but Sally knew he was in no way to be depended on, at least with help on the computer. It was all very well for him to try and calm her sense of panic. 

“Oh Damn, this is the coffee machine manual but it said ‘ Miko’ on the cover and I thought that was the name of the computer. It is so time consuming, it wastes my whole day.”

“Sally, I can tell you one thing about computers is, that although they are time wasters they will never go away and you will never get rid of the internet, even if you shoot it,” said Adrian.

“I know I need this machine but if only it was more like a human being. There does not seem to be an alternative, so I have to get used to this monster. The trouble is that the directors want me to finish typing a document by  5pm and it is already 1 o‘clock.

Sally picked up the phone and dialled the only computer person she knew, her sister’s boyfriend Jeremy.

 “Ok Sally keep calm,” he said, “Is your computer turned on?”

“How do I check if it is on?”

“Look at the start button and see if there is a light there.”

“There is a light.”

“Check the monitor for a light.”

“I do not have a monitor, I am here by myself.”

“Jeez, Sally you are so ignorant. The monitor is the screen where you see the information from your web browser. I am going to remotely access your computer and see what the problem is. OK?”

Sally watched while a few minutes later, Jeremy had a small arrow moving over her ‘Monitor’ looking for something.

“Sally make sure your wall plugs are fixed securely into their sockets.”

With some difficulty, she timidly felt all the plugs at the wall. There was a rat’s nest of wires. Spaghetti Junction had nothing on this.

The screen lit up.

“ It’s on, it’s on. Jeremy it’s on now.”

“Yes I can see that and everything seems to be working, there must have been a faulty connection with one of the plugs. My suggestion is that you go home and relax for the rest of the afternoon.”

Sally went home but took with her,  some of the daily newspapers. No way was she going to become a computer zombie with hunched shoulders and dizzy eyes.

She riffled through the papers looking for possible jobs that did not need a computer.

Postman, no that would not do, too much walking out, in all weathers. Boilermaker, no to that too. Signal repairer, no to that, Tractor driver, no no no!

Then there was the restaurant two blocks away, looking for a chef. ‘Computers can’t cook,’ thought Sally.

Next day she was at the ‘Tasty Food’ with her profile in a brief case.

“Come in Miss Woodrow.” Behind the desk, sat a good looking man, with magnetic grey eyes. “ Please take a seat.” The eyes looked her up and down, observing her dress, her demeanor, which revealed her desperation, her eagerness for the job. Her hands were twisting and she gripped the arms of the chair tightly, in order to keep them still.

“My name’s Samuel . We are looking for a cook, who makes plain food taste delicious. Not a tall order!” He looked her straight in the eyes now, smiling.

Feeling suddenly at ease, she told Samuel how she had acquired her cooking experience. She had learned her culinary skills from her father, who had taught her how to make Australian Haggis.

“ I am looking for work and would like to start as soon as possible. If you need a technophobe who can cook, you need look no further.”