I say gruelling, as it is more taxing for the inductors than for the inductees. From the stories they have told me it resembles a cross between the London riots, and the Krypton Factor for the technologically afraid.
The masses enter; the ones that remember to turn up anyway, some with glum looks on their faces, most with earphones stuck in the side of their heads, and ignoring the no eating and drinking signs. Nearly all of them have their eyes glued to their mobile phones. They are texting each other from across the room, and updating Facebook to comment on their experiences so far, emphasized by multiple exclamation marks, and every sentence ending with LOL. It's amazing how they always know how to perform the most intricate of tasks on their smart phones, yet fall flat in front of a standard computer system.
First things first; a register has to be completed. This is done with the utmost enthusiasm of a zombie approaching a cocked shotgun: And with just as much grace. The taxing part as I mentioned before was getting them to remember their names. They are more likely to remember their best friend's sister's boyfriend's mother's tennis partner's mobile phone number.
Getting them to press CTRL, ALT, DEL is hard enough, most of them approach the mission gingerly, spreading their fingers wide like an eccentric pianist, and bouncing them off the keys in one swift, hard strike, banging the keyboard ferociously. They pound at the keyboard over and over until the log on box finally gives in and pops up on the screen; crinkling up their eyes as they do so and glancing at the person next to them in case they have succeeded in the competition first, and claimed the unknown prize. Confused but satisfied in a job well done, the tutorial can begin.
Getting them to log on to the computers is the next challenge. Despite the 'how to' booklet they have all been given, a usual tutorial for this procedure went something like this:
"Your user name is your name as spelt on your ID card: Your 'student' ID card NOT your 'gym membership' card. If your name is hyphenated, ignore the hyphen."
"Your password is your postcode. No I can't remember your home address off the top of my head; I have only just met you."
"I said ignore the hyphen."
"No, don't put it in."
"Now you have locked yourself out. And you, and you..."
"I have reset your password to the word password. That is password spelt without an 'E'. Let me in, I'll do it."
"Now choose a new password, something personal. No I couldn't possibly guess your cats name or your shoe size."
"The password needs to be longer than three letters; WTF is NOT a password.."
"No your email address is not abc123456789@, that is just an example."
Then there are the occasional arguments and misunderstandings:
"OK, type back slash."
"I said back slash."
"No the other slash."
"That's the forward slash. Use the back one."
"The one next to Z."
"Z. It is the last letter in the alphabet"
"It lives at the bottom left of your keyboard."
"No don't press the 'Z' key, press the one next to it. No the other side..."
As the hour progresses the inductor slowly fights an uphill battle to educate the users in the use of our systems and answer other bungling questions.
Questions like: "Is a website the same as the Internet?", "What is a DOB?" and "Is literacy the same as English?" Combined with: "Have you seen the epic fails on YouTube?" (Probably not, but there have already been a few in this room today, and the near future is not looking bright).
Then commences the big main event: The light go down and the crowd hushes to a low din, as the big PowerPoint presentation that answers all questions flashes up on to the wall, to lay all fears to rest.
At least it would if they even bothered to look up at it instead of checking their personal email or trying to find which porn sites are not blocked by the firewall. By this time the inductors are beginning not to notice the lack of concentration, and are thinking longingly about the hot coffee pot downstairs, and the big tin of chocolate biscuits.
The presentation is specifically on how to use the computers to their advantage, going in-depth into the internal website we have setup and run just for them.
Most of them manage to follow how to load the web page, the next trick is getting them to log into it with the same credentials that they logged on to the computer with: The same user name and password that they used only a few minutes before. Naturally, they miss the boat on this one too, miserably.
The inductors then have to reset passwords for nearly everyone in the room, again (there is always the odd smart-arse who is an exception though, who not only logs on successfully, but sits with a cheesy, smug smile on their face, tutting and enjoying watching everybody else struggle. This does nothing to ease the inductors frustrations).
The users then have to log off the computer and back on again, setting up another password along the way. This takes up a lot of time, and by the time they have decided on their second password of the day, the hour is almost up and the session has had to go into overtime.
When they finally get logged on to the website, another ten minutes is wasted as they complain that some of their personal details are wrong. They complain at the tops of their voices as they ask how the mistakes can be changed, immediately; each voice melding into the next as the inductor waits for silence.
As it falls, they are asked to click the next button, this is done with relatively little difficulty and they are greeted with the 'edit personal details' page. They then have the issue again of remembering what their name is and when they were born. When it asks for their address some of them look like they have gone into overload.
This out of the way, they come to the final challenge. The skills test: A collection of questions that will test their math, English, and general knowledge and logic. Most of them look glummer than ever as reality sets in. Apparently the day isn't just about updating twitter and spotting your friends on plenty of fish.
With grunts, groans and creased foreheads the masses battle through the questions, one in particular gave them problems; a comprehension question that seems to win every year:
A list of film times and days is given on a poster on the screen in front of them, and they are asked: "When is the last showing of the film?"
For some reason, unbeknown to the users the answer box won't let them enter words... Urrmm I wonder why?!?!
It all ends with none of them any the wiser as to what they should be doing, but at least some of them got to complete Angry Birds. Exhausted from the mental stimulation, they all trudge out to the nearest cafeteria to recharge their batteries; their phone batteries mostly. Most of them have forgotten why they turned up in the first place.
The poor inductors emerge from the room, heads spinning and feeling slightly dumber than when they entered. With shallow breaths and weary eyes they collapse into an uncomfortable office chair, and reach for the coffee pot to help stimulate what is left of their brain cells. They calm down and relax a little before they realise they only have ten minutes before the next session...
...and this all goes on for another two weeks...
Many thanks to the Ladies, who gave me both inspiration and quotes for this entry, couldn't have done it without you. You have my sympathies.
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