Leave Well Enough Alone

So I am sitting around the house last weekend and decided to take the pictures off my mighty Metropcs pimp phone and move them to the laptop. I have all my phone pictures on a micro SD card so I waddle upstairs and get the adaptor case thingy. I get back downstairs, squat at the dining room table, open up the laptop and slide the little data card out of the phone. Before I am ready to slip the data card in the adaptor case I feel along the front of my laptop for the adaptor slot. I feel the regular slot and next to it are a couple smaller slots. So I think “hmmmmmmm this is really a fancy laptop (forgetting it is an elcheapo that is 6 years old) and it has a slot for the mini data card…….I don’t have to use the adaptor thingy!” ………..so I proceed to slip the mini data card into the new found slot. About as soon as I slipped it in, I eased down and looked at the slot. I noticed the two “slots” were separated horizontally by a volume wheel. My steel trap mind immediately began to evaluate the consequences of my actions. I eyeballed the data card resting slightly inside the laptop case and lying directly on top of the volume wheel. I hollered for Plou to come down and see if she could get the card back out. I could tell when I showed here the situation she was contemplating weather this actually qualified me as a dumbass, jackass, or just a regular ass. She wanted to know how I happened to get the data card in that position. I stated I just wanted her to get the card out. She went upstairs and got a needle, came down, and tried to fish hook it out. This caused the card to move further into the laptop and disappear. I picked up the laptop, put my hand over the slot and shook the case violently. I assumed the card would shake out. I was wrong. I called several computer companies I had found on Angie’s list. They all were gone or chose to ignore my call. I called Best Buy and they said they would get it out for $50. I called Zoolander, my son in law and asked for his advice. He said take the laptop back off and get the data card. I mentioned that Best Buy would do it for $50. He said I could do it, just be careful. I went to the desktop and Goggled for a schematic…….then went to YouTube to see someone taking my laptop apart. I watched a Japanese guy start to take the back off of the same model as mine. I stopped watching after about step 23. I figured I would go for it. I began taking screws out of the back. Once I had them all removed I tried to open the case. Nothing moved, no separation, nothing. I put the screws back in and headed to Best Buy. Yong Sung Min Kim was waiting for me. I gave him the laptop and he said he was the one that I talked to on phone. He said WERE YOU the one that put the card in the volume control “slot”? I said well yea. He said why did I do that? I told him the story. He said give me a few hours and I will get it out._

He calls me about 2 hours later. Says he took the laptop apart, looked everywhere, and there was no card in the laptop. I hop in the car, go to Best Buy, and Kim hands me the laptop. He says no charge as there is no data card in the laptop. I thank him and leave. But I know in my heart, the data card is in there laughing at me. I also know that at some time and place I will take the laptop apart (and when I say “I”…… I mean my son in law, Zoolander) and retrieve the card.

The lesson here is one should stay with tried and true practices. If something is working for one, one should continue doing what works and don’t get fancy.

In one of my classes, the teacher asked us to discuss your own early language and communication socialization. How was it structured? How did it orient you to your family, cultural values, social position? What do you take for granted because of how you were socialized to communicate? How does it affect your perception/evaluations of people from similar and/or different backgrounds? Does gender matter?

I spent my formative childhood years in the 50’s and 60’s in central Florida. I was raised in a traditional Deep South rural lower economic blue collar environment. The small town I lived in was racially segregated with all minorities living in one section of town. I never had a black classmate in my schools until my senior year in high school, 1968. My dad was a block mason who worked six days a week and my mom was a stay-at-home mom till I was about 15 years old. My brother and I often worked with my dad after school and on weekends. It was expected for everyone to help out around the house with housework, mowing the yard, laundry, and shopping. Most of the women in our neighborhood didn’t work outside of the home. I went to the local country school with the same people from 1st thru 12th grade. Seldom did any one move in or out of our schools or neighborhoods.

All of my neighborhood people spoke the same language, attended the same schools, and went to the same Baptist churches. We spoke with deep southern accents and we kids used a lot of slang (but not around our parents or older people!). Supper time was about the only time that we actually sat down and talked as a family. Everyone ate supper at the same time every night (except Sunday) around 5 PM. Supper consisted of my dad and mom talking about my dad’s work day, mom’s household experiences, and neighborhood happenings. Mostly the kids kept quiet and listened. This was also the time when we were asked about school work. This was also the time we were called out for getting in trouble at school. It all seemed normal and relaxed but not a whole lot of interaction verbally. We kids didn’t talk that much as we just wanted to get through eating, do the dishes, and go back outside to play.

Sundays involved going to church in the morning but we watched football on TV in the afternoon. Lots of friends and family came over as we were the gathering place for the neighborhood. It was a multigenerational affair: young kids, teenagers, parents, grandparents, girlfriends, and neighbors. Everyone spoke freely and it was fun and entertaining. The older people drank beer and sat at the tables and sofa while the younger people sat or lay on the floor. This was one of the times that we as a family and friends talked and exchanged ideas.

I think these years taught me more how to listen than talk or express myself. It was almost understood that “children were seen and not heard” in this environment. Growing up in this type of family atmosphere probably made it different for me to meet and get to know people. I think I actually worked harder as I got older to open up and communicate with people I don’t know very well. (I am very much at ease talking to just about anyone now.) I am cognizant of people from my back ground and area of the country. If I hear a southern accent I always ask the person where they are from, how they got out here, and listen for a common connection to my life when I was younger.

The culture and language was very gender specific when I was growing up. It was a time when male and female were stereotyped and identified from my earliest memories. Girls and boys were often segregated in school and churche settings. Girls were expected to learn to sew, cook, and clean the house more so than boys. The boys were expected to do yard work, play football, and hang out with the boys. Seldom did I ever hear females use profanity or talk about sex, whereas this was a common occurrence with the boys (perhaps not that unusual). We always were aware and respectful with our language around adults. Usually out of fear for getting wacked or reprimanded.

Those were different times. I feel more comfortable in society now with the more open and free conversations. Hardly anything is gender specific and people just seem smarter!!!