"No, I won't fix your computer!"

by Paul Roberts

5th January 2003

This article was written for a popular writing assignment at university.

A culture of apology haunts those of us who work with computers. "So, what do you do for a living?" "I write software." "Oh." Disappointment flows freely. Seconds ago you looked maybe worth talking to, but now, having ruefully admittedly to your shameful occupation, you're a conversational anathema. Students have similar problems. Computer Science isn't a hip, funky subject like English or "Comparative American Studies". In the eyes of the many, it's boring; it's geeky; it's a reason to terminate a conversation. Even the damned physicists get better treatment.

But the social barriers created by these frankly ostracising attitudes represent only one half of our punishment - that is, our punishment for our cardinal sin of affinity with the evil machines. Our collective sentence is completed by the presence of a mysterious, powerful yet utterly misguided belief that inexplicably permeates the minds of millions of "normal" people. This is the notion that their alien, computer-loving brethren enjoy any kind of human-computer interaction - no matter how menial, and whenever these "technophobes" encounter a problem during use of their computer, the dreadful misconception takes hold, and manifests itself in a cry for technical help. "Paul likes computers - he'll help me for free!"

This wouldn't be quite as bad if every problem was a genuine one, whose solution would lie far beyond the technological league of the average user. Tackling such problems might even prove to be interesting and stimulating. But all too often, it's something trivial - something that the user, were they willing to exert a basic level of effort, would be able to resolve without assistance. I refer to "problems" that aren't issues with the machine itself, or with any of the software, but where the user just doesn't know how to accomplish something. "I saved this web page the other day and now I can't find it - where is it?" "I've lost the preview pane - can you get it back for me?" "This disc says I need 'QuickTime' installed - can you install it for me?" But wait - isn't all this the kind of activity that people like me do for pleasure?

In a word, no. Surprised? I enjoy writing specific kinds of computer software. I enjoy, among other aspects, the technical challenge, and the satisfaction gained from creating something new and unique. I don't enjoy trying to guess where a feckless novice user has saved a webpage; nor do I enjoy waiting for an installation program to download and then clicking "Next" half a dozen times so that someone can watch a grainy music video.

Not convinced? Well, to illustrate this, let's look at a parallel in another field. Imagine two fictional guys, Jack and Pete. Jack is an automotive engineer. He designs engines for motor vehicles. Pete is Jack's friend. (Pete's occupation is irrelevant.) Pete has a car. Pete's car hasn't been washed since he bought it, and the bodywork is generously decorated with a decidedly unhealthy assortment of mud and avian excrement. (The image is a depressingly suitable analogue for the average family PC.) Pete wants a clean car. Pete thinks. "Jack likes cars!" Pete calls Jack. "Jack, my car's dirty - can you come and wash it?"

I can hear the indignant response of the computer-illiterates already. Using a computer is a lot harder than washing a car, right? Well, in response, we can look at an appropriate example; let's take Sally, who for the purposes of this paragraph, exists and is another of Jack's friends. Sally buys a new car. She has never learned to drive. She calls Jack. "Jack, I've bought a new car but I can't be bothered to take the time to learn how to drive it. Can you come and drive me to the supermarket?"

Sounds ludicrous, doesn't it? It's the same thing with computers. Our imaginary guy, Jack, enjoys designing engines, squeezing out the last fraction of efficiency, or power, or whatever. It's new, it's challenging, and it pays well. He doesn't want to wash your car, be your chauffeur, cook your breakfast or defrag your hard drive.

Somehow, though, the ludicrousness of some demands is lost on those who would make them. Humans have an almost insatiable capacity for learning, and yet many of them (even those who willingly spent swathes of time and money on driving lessons so they don't need a chauffeur) seem unable to motivate themselves to learn to use a computer effectively.

It's really not that difficult. I've seen it happen. One of the simplest ways to learn more about the software you use is to make use of online help facilities. These are usually comprehensive, completely free of charge, and easily accessible from within a particular piece of software. And they do work. In fact, many of us who are said to "know lots about computers", when faced with a "how do I...?" style query, simply turn to the online help to find the answer. So why doesn't everyone else? Perhaps, in the past, we raging technophiles were more adept at extricating answers from help systems that were often unwieldy and sometimes plain unhelpful, but those days are long gone. Most of the massively commercial software in use today simply has excellent online documentation.

One of the most soul-destroying aspects of providing freebie technical support, though, is perhaps the hopeless failure of most users to follow the instructions that they are given. This problem is especially prevalent in situations where regular system maintenance is required. Sometimes the failure is genuine incompetence, ("I couldn't find the menu you went into...") but it can be sheer laziness: "Look, don't just turn off the computer at the wall - go to 'Shut Down...' and do it properly." "I can't be bothered." "Well, I can't be bothered to fix your computer the next time you break it." Either way, we geeky types know that any new support call is unlikely to be a one-off.

Besides that aspect, there's sometimes more at stake when "fixing" someone's computer than simply your time and effort. Work you carry out may have repercussions - direct or indirect, real or imagined. In fixing something that's broken, you inadvertently break something else. Alternatively, someone else entirely breaks something soon after your visit, and the temporal proximity causes the user to lay the blame on you. So at the very least, you have to make another visit. At the worst, you're held accountable for something important breaking or getting deleted. Do we need to indemnify ourselves by demanding that a user signs a contract before we touch their computer or even offer any advice?

The "reformat" or "reinstall" is perhaps the classic case of a seriously repercussive repair. Explained via a contrived example, it often goes something like this: A user complains, "My PC isn't working. X is happening. Y isn't happening." A helpful and knowledgeable friend examines it, and exclaims, "What the hell have you done to this? The easiest solution would be to wipe everything off and start again - I mean, reinstall all your software." "Okay, then, do that! I just want it working!" Our friend proceeds cautiously, "This'll delete absolutely everything, you realise? Everything. So first, we'll need to backup your work, your email, and anything else you want to keep. Okay?" "Oh," says the user, "there's no need - it's all on disk." "Are you sure?" "Yes." Two hours and one clean system later, we get "Where are all my 'Favourites'?" "You've lost all my photos! And my music's all gone!" And so on.

So where does all this leave the hapless computing student, or the unfortunate IT professional? Socially excluded except for when an icon goes missing?

The good news is that in the future, the situation is likely to improve. Younger people today already know a lot more about computers and computer use - they use computers in education, at work, and at home. Additionally (and crucially), they seem, on the most part, to be more willing than some of their older counterparts to experiment, and to teach themselves. A potential downside is that some of those who work in technical support (a.k.a. people who find lost clipart for a living) may find themselves out of a job. But what a relief for those of us who chase nonexistent viruses, exterminate real ones, resurrect deleted documents and clean dirty mouse balls without being paid a penny.

In the meantime, though, next time you see that computer-savvy friend emerge, blinking, from his darkened chamber, hesitate before you ask him something that you could learn to do on your own. Spare a thought, perhaps, for his sanity, and consider helping yourself.

Thanks to James, Kate, Mike and Charles for their most capable assistances, and to ThinkGeek for the T-shirt that inspired the article in the first place.

QuickTime is a trademark of Apple Computer, Inc., registered in the U.S. and other countries.

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