I’m a patient woman. I actually started this blog three years ago. I signed up with ‘someone else’ and it became so complicated with this and that and working out what went where. I thought it was all my fault for months and felt guilty. I didn’t want to be that person calling every five minutes after pushing a wrong button. I finally plucked up the courage to contact them and found out it was their fault all along.
‘We are very sorry, ma’am, thanks for calling the helpline’.
It was all just too much. I paid a fortune in advance and never even made my first post. I anxed myself to inaction for way too long. Their promo video about its simplicity was a load of lies, the s***-kickers.
Plus, I hate being called ma’am.
I’d love to be that person asking for what they want and knowing their rights. Give honest feedback, logically, sensibly, critically, helpfully… all in a way that makes all parties feel like they haven’t been given a wrath suppository by a head-spinning, froth-spitting minion of satan. I start imploding and feel the pent up ‘roid rage of a weightlifter, then this fragile ferret voice comes from nowhere and I find myself saying, ‘it’s okay, no problem.’
I’m not technology challenged, I’m choice challenged. Don’t give me options, give me results. Read my mind. Correctly. I sound like a millenial, but I’m not. I’m 48, going on 70.
The day my youngest child started primary school in 2000, I went to university. To get back into the print graphic design industry I’d left for motherhood in 1989, I’d have to learn to use a computer. Two degrees later without learning web design for my up-skilled design career, I was still up s*** creek without a paddle. I can’t tell you how many jobs I missed out on because ‘graphic designer’ and ‘web designer’ decided to marry and have a child called ‘bloody-superperson-who-can-do-everything-designer-would-you-like-some-fries-with-that-while-I-whip-you-up-a-quick-animation-thingy-for-your-sidebar-and-order-your-business-cards?’.
Turns out I’m not one of those mathy-coding type people. I hear numbers and gobbledy-gook going in, and I can’t see it or place it anywhere in this physical realm that resembles anything that feels like home. It’s like asking me what the colour of number nine smells like.
HTML… <blah blah blah bladdy blah blah stick it up your bum>
I hope I never have to eat my words on that one.