After four decades, I have grown to accept there are certain skills I will never possess.
Among those is a self-awareness that any home improvement project I tackle will result in expenses vastly exceeding “typical.” I also have learned I should never attempt automotive repairs on any vehicle built later than 1975, nor should I make medical recommendations for family based on wives’ tales. Last week, I added another item to the list — computer technology migration, which resulted in computer repair. The latest debacle began when our office moved to a new “server” — a central computer providing services to its users through a network. According to the person who completed the installation, it was a relatively simple set-up involving plugging in and unplugging new and old units, followed by some detail work on each computer. “It should work without any trouble,” he assured me as he prepared to leave the building. I nodded in appreciation and thanked him profusely. However, the next morning when I tried accessing my e-mail, I wished I had choked him, instead. When I tried clicking on the computer’s e-mail icon, a message popped up on the computer screen notifying me I could no longer connect to my e-mail. No problem, I thought. Since there was a handy “help” menu, which outlined the setup of e-mail accounts, I jumped into the project as someone well educated in the intricate workings of computer technology. Of course, the truth reared its ugly head about 30 minutes later, after I accidentally deleted my access to the server. My confidence waned. A couple of phone calls and several more online instructions helped me reconnect, but all of my calendar items mysteriously had disappeared. I searched a variety of folders and subfolders on my computer, but found nothing more than items I thought I previously deleted. Apparently, I really had saved them for use later, although they had been perilously lost in my computer’s cyber-mind for several months. I contacted a technology support team, who advised, “There is no way to re-populate your e-mail calendar.” They offered condolences, but I heard a hint of sarcasm in their little “techie” voices. I considered sending them an equally sarcastic note once I fixed the problem, myself. If I were to ever fix the problem, myself. In the next moment, I realized all my plans were electronically cancelled, leaving me to begin lengthy explanations for why I no longer showed up for appointments. I figured most people would understand, but on at least three occasions, I remembered appointments that included my wife. She would not understand. I considered a new message for my phone but decided to cut my losses instead. Besides, with my luck I probably would end up rendering my phone useless, also. Therefore, in the next several weeks, there is a better than average chance I will miss any appointments I scheduled with you. The good news is it provides me more quality time to spend in the office trying to make my e-mail and calendar work, again. Meanwhile, I am going to do a migration of my own — from digital to traditional. That process includes a pencil and piece of paper. Ken Knepper is publisher of The Newton Kansan. He can be contacted at kenneth.knepper@thekansan.com.
