All Ages?

I read the next name from the list.

"Marg..." oh, no.  "Margot?"

Here we go again.

Listen, I don't disagree that cell phones do some good in the world.  They provide a sense of security and people, in general, like the convenience of having one around.  But if you are of the Baby Boomer generation, or slightly younger, and you are convinced that one or both of your octogenarian parents needs a cell phone...YOU should teach them how to use it.

Our society is bad enough when it comes to how we treat our elderly.  Now, with cell phones, it has gotten worse and everyone thinks they're doing something noble.  First, you stick your parents in a home. Now, to assuage your guilt, you stick them with an impossible piece of technology and tell them to use it.  It's like kicking a baby out onto the streets but, oh, you also give them a motorcycle.

Luckily for you, there's me.

"Hi, Mrs. Lewis.  How are you today?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you.  I waited for you."
"I see that.  Thank you very much.  What brings you in this time?"
"Voicemail."
"Okay, what's going on with it."
"Well...where is it?"

The children of this generation are the most impatient teachers of technology.  "Mom, push the green button!"  "Dad, red to hang up!"  They bark these orders while their attention is always elsewhere, never taking the time to truly instruct.  Without analogy, the lessons are not understood.  I've managed hundreds of "a-ha" moments by simply explaining, "it's just like a landline in that it's always on, always ready to accept a phone call, just look at pressing the green button as picking up the receiver and pressing the red button as hanging it back up on the cradle."

Oh yeah, it helps if you never give them the option to turn it off.

"We recorded your voicemail message last week, do you remember how to access it?"
Mrs. Lewis pulls out her 3x5 cell phone cheat sheet that I've been adding to and skims with a shaky finger.
"Press and hold 1."
"Exactly.  Let's try it right here."
She presses 1, the phone starts dialing.  Voicemails start playing.  But she can't hear them.  I jump in.
"Ah, after you press and hold '1' for a couple of seconds, you'll see the screen say 'calling' and then you need to hold it up to your ear."
She points to the card, "will you write 'dialing' and then 'hold to ear' after that?"
"Of course."

Last week we recorded Mrs. Lewis' greeting.  She asked, "What should I say?"  I responded, "oh, you know, something along the lines of "Hi, it's me, leave a message."  She exuberantly recorded, "Hi, me! Leave a message!"  I almost peed myself.

We work through her voicemail, playing back messages from her children and grandchildren.  There is a sense of amazement and pure joy in watching Mrs. Lewis listen to those she loves leave her messages.  I am lucky to be able to help her do so.  We practice deleting them and I call her phone to leave some additional messages.  She gets used to seeing the voicemail icon and pressing/holding/listening to them as we go.  She seems to have a pretty firm grasp on it as she pulls out the to-learn list she had written down while at home.

"Let's see, what else?  Text messages."
"Are you planning on sending text messages?"
"Oh shoot, no!"
"Then let's put that off for a future time."
"They should have classes for these things?"
"They should.  But in the meantime, you have me."

Toward the end of my hour with Mrs. Lewis, another elderly lady circles our conversation and leans in a little closer.  I begin teaching both of them together when the second interrupts me.
"I'll let you finish with her, but can I wait for you when you're done?"
"Of course you can."

Brooklyn leans in, "No good deed..."

If this were my job, I would absolutely love it.  If I actually got paid to teach the elderly how to use their cell phones, I'd be in heaven.  Unfortunately, the same Company that uses its mouth to say "take your time with each customer" is pointing 15 fingers at metrics I need to hit by the end of the month.  Now that I'm on Final Written Warning, I cannot afford to miss a single requirement.

But, screw it.  I take my time.  If I'm going out, I'm going out with these two lovely ladies.  I finish with Mrs. Lewis, give her my schedule for next week and, knowing full-well who will respond, I read the next name on the list.