Enter the Nerd

I'm assuming the Rogers guy coming to my house today will be a nerd. As unfair as that may be, I tend to lump the techno-savvy into the "nerd" bucket of my life's flow chart.

I suppose it is my last grasp at trying to maintain some sort of status in the bold face of my own ignorance. It doesn't matter that everything they say to me about my computer and modem sounds like they're making up words to make me feel stupider. They're nerds. I have a much cooler life.

It's a tenuous grasp on dignity.

The realist in me acknowledges that these guys probably have lovely lives. Girlfriends, wives, family they see frequently and friends who they go to ball games with. They're probably not the basement dwelling nerd I imagine them to be. Instead they're running around the city like a modern day cowboy, in their Rogers van, solving the internet accessibility problems of the world one modem at a time.

Before they arrive, it is the homesteader's darkest hour. After they leave, there is hope. Information is flowing. The supply chain is restored. The cattle will grow fat.

I am waiting for that sunny day where a technician just shows up and goes to work without asking me any questions. I literally know none of the pertinent statistics about my computer. I am always asked, I always say I don't know, and they always click two buttons and find the answer they're looking for. Why not just start there? Why humiliate me? Is it fun for them? Do they get together in their nerd club house and compare "most ignorant computer owner of the day" stories? Are there prizes?

I always assume that one of my deflective shrugs will be the last straw for one of the more impatient technicians.

"What do you mean, you don't know? How can you not know? This is your computer. You don't even care, do you? You don't want to know, you just want someone to come in here and make it all better for you."

"If it helps, I have no idea what my blood type is, either."

"It doesn't help. I'm taking the computer with me. You don't deserve to have it. Luddite".

I suppose it's true. If my computer were a living thing, like an exotic bird, or a tank full of tropical fish, I would have killed it by now. There's always some fiddly, piddly little detail (vitamins, anti-algae treatments, de-fragging) that needs to be done, that I've never heard of that could bring down my delicate house of cyber-cards.

I will be home between five and eight tonight, in anticipation of the condescending treatment that is sure to arrive with the nerd. And I will bear it with strength and conviction. Because no matter how little I know about my own computer, I will not let the nerds win. Not this time, cowboy.