I remember clearly the day the new flat screen TV set arrived at our apartment in the retirement home. I stared at this marvel of technology and watched as the technician connected the wires, pressed buttons, waved the remote and said, “That’s it, folks! Enjoy your new set!”
I remember that I said, “Just a minute young feller; show me exactly what I have to do to get a movie.”
“All you have to do is point the remote at the TV and press this little green button,” he said.
Last night I was late in switching on the TV. I thought I might be missing the news so I grabbed the remote and in my haste pressed the nearest button. I got snow on about 200 channels and I did miss the news. For all I knew Cyprus could have sunk and Syria could have fallen while I tried to get the set back on the rails. There are a limited number of buttons on the remote and I have pressed them all singly, in tandem and hopscotch fashion; in alphabetical order and in all four directions and nothing happens. I know the satellite dish is still up there on the roof because Ben, my mate on the fifth floor, says his set is working fine.
Three days later I am still looking at the snow. My usual electronics help team, which consists of assorted grandchildren, are all out of town and the TV repairman gave me an appointment for next Tuesday, “between 8am and 5pm. Please be home when I arrive.” I Googled the subject and got back about 200 answers, none of which quite matches my problem.
Someone needs to open a seniors’ store, a place where we Goldenagers can buy simple electronics and modern day gadgets that operate with a flick of the finger. The remotes should have one big button marked “press here” in large letters and should be able to operate everything.