Left, Right, Up, Which, Who?
2003-08-10, 9:44 p.m.
I have spent the better part of the week booting and rebooting my computer. I'm sure it's the Magic Box God that loathes me for my ignorance and is therefore teaching me a lesson called, how do you say, The Patience, otherwise known as Following Directions.
See, if on some emode or ivillage questionnaire that I frequently and infrequently become obsessive/compulsive about, there was a question like, say, "Are you able to take direction well?" I'd be all, "Doy. Ima do everything well. I'm an intelligent, saavy Human Bean. Of course I can follow directions." But people. Realizations like this make your vision blur and the world around you hush.
I cannot, in fact, Follow Directions.
I'm sure I've had an unconscious arrogance deep down that I master the following of directions and that only mo-rons cannot accomplish simpleton tasks as such. But I can't. For real. Cause that's the thing; there ain't no "mastering" of directions, there's only the following of them. And I've realized that my absurdly overstated refusal to follow has extended so far as to include the realm of Directions.
Let me explain, I have been having los problemos with My Computer. Clearly, it's a Commie Pinko Bastard because it works on its own schedule to the extent it pleases. It knows I have no other choices--fucking Stalin-loving bastard machine. Anyhow, The Magic Box God knows that I know nothing about My Computer and not only does It suffer me that ignorance, It also recognizes my refusal to truly admit my technological lowliness by prostrating myself to having Cyber Star come in and fix it. So I take it upon myself to restore this program this and disable that application that. And the mode I choose of doing that is reading the gist of what needs to be done. And therein lies the problem: I cannot Follow Directions. (My points, like Disco, always come back around, I assure you).
So, as such, I have been forced to lather, rinse, repeat about fife thousant times today. Every. Single. Time. I attempted to do repairs without any real direction and my experience would go like this: Start. Shutdown. Restart. You'd think I'd be able to recognize this glaring billboard of a message. But, no. Start. Shutdown. Restart. And...Start. Shutdown. Restart. far too many times before it occurred to me: Hi, Follow Directions Jesus. Fer crissake.
All this being said, I have decided to copyright a certain phrase that I am sure will bring millions into me grubby lit'el hands and peace to the masses. You know at how at the beginning of instructions, it says:
Please follow directions carefully.
My addition will read:
Yeah, you. Especially you.
(Kid , did this come from you? It sounds too smart to have originated in my brain?)
Anyhow, this way, all asswipes like me, might give pause and think, Hey, maybe someone who made up the directions actually knows more than me.
But until then, we're all lost.
My only other choice is to move to Sweden where they know from Following Directions. Them lingonberry-lovin' fools at Ikea got it right. They have, like, four pictures on a single piece of paper as instructions on how to assemble a 14-tiered china cabinet. They obviously already know that most people are pricks who think they know how to put it all together all by themselves. What's more, they give you a tool, A tool, that is really no more advanced than a bobby pin with which to construct your items, thus furthering your incredible belief that it's not all that complicated and that you'll have it up 1, 2, 6. But if you look in the bottom left hand corner, in very, very small type, you can make out lettering in Swedish, which, I've come to find out, when translated reads: "Hey fucko. Yeah, you. Especially you."