Someone said recently that he never works with computers.
During the past few weeks, I have learned that every one of us deals with computers, even if we don’t know about it.
Every facet of each of our lives is on a computer someplace.
Calling to inquire about an account that needed to be closed, I encountered a chirpy young thing who sounded about 12 years old and tried to pretend that she was on top of things.
I told her the account needed to be paid and closed. It had no balance and had been idle for at least six months.
She wanted the account number, which I provided.
I heard the clicking of computer keys.
“Ummm,” she said. “One moment, please.”
Why did I think she had hit a wrong key or two?
“Okay, can you give me the last four digits of your social security number, please?”
I provided them.
“Those don’t match the ones on the account.”
I asked her why she hadn’t asked for my late husband’s number, since it was his account.
“Oh. Well the computer didn’t ask specifically.”
I provided Jake’s last four.
Computers don’t have common sense.
I heard more clicking and a beep.
“Okay, can you give me the account number again?”
I provided it.
“Why does the account need to be changed?” she asked, the chirp was weakening.
I told her that he passed away.
“So you want to be on the account?”
No, I need it to be closed. It won’t be used any longer.
More clicking and a bell.
“Are you sure he won’t be using it?”
I told her to send me a letter ensuring that the account was history.
“D’you have an address?”
“It should be in the file.”
“His or yours?”