MUSINGS The help button

Living

The help button

The help button


Diary of a homebird
Ciara Galvin

I seem to question my reasoning for still living at home at the age of 25 on occasions when the roomies, ah, let’s just say ‘get the better of me’. Recently, after a long day involving trains, planes and automobiles on my way home from a work trip to Birmingham, I debated packing the bags.
I settled down with my laptop to get my fix of US box-set drama, in this case ‘The Wire’.
Not long into the opening credits, the door opens and the female roomie walks over to the PC in the corner. “Oh no, for the love of God. Not now, not now,” I scream internally. But oh yes, it had to be now. On a Friday night at 9.30pm. Madre wanted to compose an email to my sister in Dublin. Now, even though she has my sister’s phone number and could give her a call, Madre decided she wanted to email her (show off her newly acquired skills), and she enlisted my help.
Tempers got heated. Signals were misread. “I’m nervous typing when you’re standing over me,” she said. I replied, “Fine, I’ll leave ya to it so.” I settled on the couch only to hear  “Ciara, can you come here a minute?” a minute later. “Deep breaths,” I thought.
As the final touches were made to what seemed like Homer’s ‘Iliad’, I talked the female roomie through the steps of logging out of her email. Delighted with herself, she left the sitting room, and I assumed my position draped on the couch with my laptop.
Thirty seconds later the door opens again. This time it was the male roomie.
“Little pet, any chance you’d help me send an email?”
I covered my eyes. “No dad, I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I will have a mental breakdown.”
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I awaited his reply. Turns out that after the female roomie gathered that her technology tutor (muggins) was a little stressed out, so she decided to tell the male roomie to push me over the edge, for some light entertainment. Once the cat was out of the bag, I thought “Jeez if they keep this, up I might actually move out from under their roof.”
In fairness, soon after, I was grappling with technology myself. Early last week, I came home from work and turned on the laptop to catch up on some work, only to be met with 18 different coloured lines zig-zagging their way across the screen. A visit to a local computer shop confirmed my fears: laptop screen broken.
Fortunately it can be replaced. But what about my nightly ritual of catching up on various TV series online? I quickly charged my iPad and told myself that this was the evening I would finally fix the most recent problem: I’d been locked out of my Apple account, which one requires for almost everything – downloading apps, music, movies and syncing information between your phone and other devices. Because someone decided to hack into my account months ago, my iPad and effectively my iPhone have been rendered pretty much useless. Long story short, through the process of attempting to fix the problem, I accidentally deleted all my phone numbers. I still haven’t managed to rectify it.
The following day, while typing up this very column, the power went off in the office … for an hour. Coincidence? Hmmm.
Hand me a pen and paper. I think it might be the best for everyone.

In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.