Tag Instructions

Can I have that in writing

Michael 9 Comments

Last week I bought a set of book ends. Plain acrylic book ends you put on a bookshelf to hold the books that don’t stretch all the way across the shelf. Not fancy. Not decorative. Plain L-shaped hunks of plastic designed to do nothing but hold other things up. Although not patented until 1877, they have certainly been around since there have been books. They are as utilitarian as doorknobs or shoelaces. Things that just are. Why then am I devoting so much space to the humble bookend? It wasn’t the bookends that caught my attention when I first opened the box, aquiver with anticipation that finally I can keep my books from toppling over. It was the piece of paper within the box. The – ahem – instructions for use.

I saw a post on one of the social media sites (which I don’t remember for they are becoming like 1980s era GM cars), “in a 1960s a car’s owners’ manual had instructions on setting the gap on the spark plugs; today’s warns you not to drink the battery acid.” I thought that was cute but it could be accurate. Oh, not the 1960s reference. I do indeed recall those cars. In fact, I remember a time when on the driver’s door post, in addition to the sticker indicating the recommended air pressure, there was one also noting the recommended carburetor fuel flow, the manual including details how to make those adjustments. No, I was certain the reference to not drinking the battery acid had to have been hyperbole. And then I discovered instructions for how to use book ends.

About a month ago I bought a new easel. Artist easels have been around about as long as book ends. Although they have more parts than bookends, and moving parts to boot, there are not many ways to incorrectly stand an easel. In fact, I can think of no way to get it wrong. Yet, when I opened that box, sitting on top of the collapsed wooden frame was a four-page instruction booklet. I poured over those instructions looking for the secret to paint like Rembrandt but all I found was that I should “secure the painting surface securely.” You would think if they were going to go through the trouble of hiring someone to write operating instructions, they could have at least hired someone who knows how to use a thesaurus.

I get it. The people who make car batteries really don’t want you to crack open the battery case and suck out the “juice” no matter how long you’ve been on the side of the road waiting for service and how thirsty you got while waiting. That’s a dumb idea. And I get that somebody somewhere must have gotten exactly that thirsty, or we wouldn’t be discussing ways to discourage people from drinking battery acid. I don’t get it. Even if you used it wrong, what fate would befall you from the incorrect use of a bookend (a plastic bookend!) that would get a personal injury lawyer kicking his lips?

My warning to all of you, check those scissors, tape, ribbons, and bows before you do any gift wrapping this week for instructions. You don’t want to be the first one at the emergency room trying to explain you did what with your ribbon!

So little of this year is left. Was it as you expected or did it take a different turn? We tell a tale of how unexpected things turn out to be most welcome in the latest Uplift! (It’s just a quick 3 minute read.)

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Technical Resistance

Michael 8 Comments

I try to take responsibility for myself as much as I can in all aspects that I can reach. As long as I can reach them comfortably. Including my health. So when the good folks that bring me my delightful dialysis sessions announced an opportunity to “take control of your kidney health and experience better outcomes” I jumped at the chance. Who couldn’t resist better outcomes in anything you take on? Then they started throwing around words like “empowered” and “easy” in the same paragraph even. And they got me with, “Start managing your kidney care with your Portal today and gain more time to do the things you love. Register today and Thrive On” (Emphasis not even added. They’re good.) How can I not want to take advantage of gaining more time to do the things I love? I was hooked.

You just know this is going to go wrong somewhere, don’t you? Hmm.

Looking forward to actively participating in my care, I carefully filled out the many screens of information that they requested, chose my password, and awaited the confirmation email which would contain the additional instructions for completing the registration process. In just a few seconds it came, and in just a few minutes I did what I was supposed to do. In seconds again I received another email congratulating me on successfully registering for the patient portal and was presented with a link to “log in and start actively participating in your care!” (OK, that time I added the exclamation point, but I wasn’t excited about this. Wouldn’t you be?)

I clicked, eagerly awaiting the chance to participate in my care, and attempted my first official login. In went my email address, then went in my password, then the email address and password went in to wherever they go and the little circle thing started spinning and then, low and behold (words you just don’t hear much anymore) across the screen I was presented with the message “username or password invalid.” Oh, poo! No problem. In my excitedness I probably hit a wrong key so I re-entered the username which is my email address so I know that was correct, and then, this time more carefully, my password. Almost always when denied access it’s because I incorrectly enter the password which makes sense since they never show you your password (unless it happens to be ******* and you just have to remember how many *s). But no, again that didn’t work so I gave one more try and one more time I got the same frustrating message.

I selected the link on the page for technical support and sent them an email detailing my inability to log into the patient portal (and thus my unfortunate delay in participating in my care!) and sat back to await their response. A few minutes later I saw the little envelope icon pop up at the top of the screen and I anxiously opened my email to just as anxiously read their reply, get back on track, and start participating in my care. Well imagine my disappointment when I scrolled the inbox items and saw, “Undeliverable.” Instead of the anxiously awaited reply I had a message wherein the little emailman politely explained to me that my desperate plea for help could not be sent because the addressee “wasn’t found or doesn’t exist at the destination server” and I should check to make sure I entered the address correctly, contact the intended recipient by phone, or several other options that involved things like checking licenses and permissions and other things that normal non-computer savvy people (and probably some of them, too) have no idea what any of that means. Disappointment does not begin to describe what I was feeling. “ARRRGH!” OF COURSE THE DAMN ADDRESS EXISTS. ALL I DID WAS PUSH THEIR DANM BUTTON ON THEIR DAMN WEBSITE! DAMN MORONS!” I said to myself. Calmly.

Maybe it’s just a password problem and I actually mistyped when I was selecting it. It’s possible. If I can incorrectly enter a password when trying to log onto a site I can certainly mistyped the letters, characters, numbers, and case control when first selecting the password. Of course that would mean that I would have had to make the same mistake twice since, once on the first selection entry and once on the confirmation entry, but hey, it could happen. Yeah, right.

So I attempted to log on again, knowing it would reject the login information but also knowing I would be presented with the inevitable “Forgot your password?” link. So I did. And I was. And I clicked. And in a few seconds I received another email with another link to reenter my password. So I clicked. And I reentered. Carefully. Both times. The screen blanked taking all my information again to wherever the little electrons go when they discuss these things and in less than a second I got another email! This is getting exciting. Again anxiously (though not quite as anxiously as I had been earlier), I opened the email and read the message congratulating me on successfully changing my password with a new link to log on and “start participating in my care.” (No emphasis added. By this time I was getting emphatically worn out.) Again I clicked. And again I entered username AKA email address and password AKA, uhh, password. And again I got…”username or password invalid.”

Oy.

(If you read Monday’s post and are wondering if this was what I couldn’t remember…..well, the answer to that is no. But this one is such a great story I couldn’t wait to share it. That and if I did wait I knew I would have forgotten about it. But don’t worry. I still have the sticky note stuck right there on the monitor (see?) and I’ll be writing all about it next time. Unless something else comes up between now and then. But it’s OK. There’s lots of sticky on that note. It’s not going anywhere.)

(Oh and, do you think I use too many parentheses?)

 

Euphemistically Yours

Michael 2 Comments

I was going to write a light, breezy post about something humorous that happened to me. But all of that changed when I saw what was on my coffee table. Let me start in the middle. (The beginning would make this just WAAAAYYYYYYYY too long.) A couple of weeks ago I bought a new television. Sometime over the weekend I read the instruction manual. At least I got around to it eventually. Actually I didn’t get around to it. It somehow ended up on the table instead of the recycling bin and as I was walking it over to said bin it fell out of my hands and broke open. And that’s when I started reading.

At first I wasn’t sure I was really reading it. I thought that maybe I was having a dream but one of those dreams that is so lifelike that you wake up thinking that you really did just have lunch with Aunt Ella even though she died 12 years ago and even more that you don’t have an Aunt Ella. Now that’s a dream. But I thought that maybe that’s exactly what I was having because no company on Earth could actually put into writing what I was reading right there in black and white.

About halfway through the “IMPORTANT NOTICES” was, in bold letters, “End of Life Directives.” This is why I at first thought that I was having and/or had had a dream. And probably a bad dream. To someone who spent 40 years in health care, “End of Life” has a very specific meaning. Usually, no, always, end of life means someone’s life has ended. Died. Checked out. Kicked the bucket. 86’d on out of here. Gone. Never to return. Dead.

On top of it, I’ve spent the last few years in and out of hospitals where the first thing anybody asks (after “are you bleeding?”) is, “Do you have a living will or advance directives?” And just last week the dialysis clinic social worker brought to me a stack of papers to be signed for this year and at the top of the stack was a pre-formatted form labeled “End of Life Directives.”

So you can see why when I saw that associated with an Open Box Internet Special yet still over-priced television set I thought I was hallucinating. Or at the very least way past my bedtime. We have enough things that are challenged, sufficient opportunities, plenty of stuff that is deprived, depressed or disadvantaged, that we don’t need to borrow an actual sentiment to be euphemistic for something that really doesn’t need to be spoken of gently.

Exactly what is this “end of life” that the manufacturers of electronic components are afraid to call a spade? Apparently, as I learned upon further reading, it’s when the TV has reached the end of its usefulness to me and the manufacturer wants to make me aware that there are environmentally responsible means of disposal that are at my umm, disposal.

I know it’s terribly politically incorrect to call a shovel a shovel but hasn’t the need to call everything anything but whatever thing it is gone too far now? We can’t even put in an instruction manual that this thing you just bought might break, fail, quit, or stop working. We have to speak gently so that if you actually paid full price for the item you won’t file an wrongful breakdown suit against the manufacturer. Bull shit. It will break and when it does either recycle it or throw it away. Those are your choices. Directives or not.

But if I should happen to outlive the newest electronic member of my family I will be certain to dispose of it in a responsible and thoughtful manner. I’ll hold a respectful gathering of its friends, we’ll have a non-denominational service with a few of the other appliances offering their thoughts and best wishes for the survivors and afterwards some light refreshments and fellowship. We will then gently load the life-challenged inanimate object into the back of my pre-hybrid automobile, drive several times around the county looking for a recycling center that accepts electronics, pay $1 per pound or $45 per dropoff whichever is less, and then hightail it back home. In air-conditioned comfort.

California will be proud.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Use As Directed

Michael Leave a comment

Here where we are it is maple syrup festival time.  That’s one of our favorite times.  The only unfortunate part of it is that sometimes festivals overlap and we have to pick one. This year is such a year and we are picking the one with more variety and more vendors to maximize our festival festivities.  It so happens that the festival we selected is one where we have purchased a great deal of arts and craft items, not the least of which was a 5 foot wooden palm tree, a 4 x 5 foot painting, and a tricked out boogie board.  All in the same year if we recall correctly.

It also so happens that quite very recently, He of We changed cars.  No longer is there a large SUV with oodles of cargo space.  Now there is a simple mid-size sedan with a more modest payload.  It was early yesterday morning when He started wondering what we would do without the oodles of cargo space.  Apparently He wondered this out loud because Daughter of We picked that time to remind him, “But Dad, you once took a tree home in the Miata.”

And she was right.  This was not a five foot wooden palm tree but a four foot, live, ornamental flowering peach which now graces She of We’s front yard.  It was transported from store to home, about 12 miles, sitting on the floor in front of the passenger seat of the little two seat convertible that spends its summers being our get-away vehicle.  She spotted the tree and knew just where it should go.  Not having a proper way to transport it did not deter us.  We understood perfectly well that not having a roof means you can carry almost anything.  In the right orientation.  So, into the car it went, behind it on the seat She went, and altogether we went with She holding on to the trunk (of the tree, not the car) to its ultimate destination.

And what does this have to do with anything, other than it surely brought questions to the minds of passing motorists along our journey.  What it has to do is how often we do the opposite of what should be done and still come out just fine.  (That would be the Queen’s We, not necessarily just the us We.)

For example, Every recipe in the world that requires an oven somewhere during the process begins with, “Pre-heat oven to blah-blah degrees.”  Really?   Or does one turn on the oven, do whatever prep is necessary, toss in whatever is going there and says “Close enough, I’ll add 15 minutes at the end.”

Or how about vacuuming the stairs with the large, heavy, upright vacuum cleaner rather than looking for the hose, the extension wand, and the attachment, and then remembering how to put it all together.

All owner’s manuals and most gas pumps warn against “topping off” the gas tank.  Has anybody actually ever seen anybody else calmly pulling out the nozzle when the automatic shut off shuts off?  It we did that how would we ever be guaranteed an even dollar amount at the pump?

Just because we have gotten away with these doesn’t mean you should make it a practice of ignoring the safety rules.  So don’t!  But if you ever see a little red Miata motoring down the highway with a tree sticking out the top, that might not be the best time to remind us to do the same.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Three Little Words

Michael Leave a comment

We’ve been thinking about this for a while and have come to a conclusion.  There is only one instruction in the English language that people actually pay attention to.  It is not:

Speed Limit = (XX) MPH.  Speed limits are barely suggestions anymore.

Not dishwasher safe.  Everything is safe in the top rack.

Capacity = 20 People, particularly in an elevator, particularly at 9am

Cook at 350 degrees for 45 minutes which really means cook at 450 for 20.  We’re hungry!

No Turn on Red and other traffic suggestions that control movement at intersections. 

Allow to stand for 20 minutes.  Nothing good happens after the first 5 minutes.

Inflate to 23 PSI Front, 21 PSI Rear.  Tires, right?  Just blow them up till the pump stops.

Coupon Expires January 31, 2012.  If you tear it at just the right angle across the top…

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.  Really?

Tools required: Adjustable Wrench, Allen Wrench, Sultry Wrench.  What, no hammer?

Do Not Use After: xx/xx/xxxx.  Come on.  Yogurt is already milk gone bad.

Hand Wash.  Then why do they put a delicate setting on the washer?

Do not mix batteries.  Does anybody even know what this is supposed to mean?

Bulb max = 40 Watt.  For what?  Night blindness?

No, it’s none of these.  Yet there is a rule, a law, a regulation, an instruction that puts fear in Americans.  The one instruction the American public actually follows is:

Dry Clean Only.

It’s on the only clothes that people actually sort on laundry day.  It’s the only instruction that parents pass on to their children when they move out into the world on their own.  In fact, we know people who have actually not purchased clothes because of this instruction.  Although we hesitate to admit it, She of We has actual personal experience that Dry Clean Only means Dry Clean Only.  (In fairness though, she does prefer to send out white blouses and shirts to a Dry Cleaner because they always come back so nice and crisp.)  

Yes, these are the most powerful three words in the English language.  Dry.  Clean.  Only. 

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?