The Sprite of Technology

If you ask me—the Sprite, I mean Spirit of Technology—I’m much like a Gentry, I mean Genie that does all kinds of tricks once unleashed from the bottle--or unpacked from the steel-stapled, bulky box of knuckle-busting Styrofoam and popcorn-styrene beads that scatter on the floor and stick to your fingers like some new type of Cleveland snow. I’m swift, I’m crafty, I’m nimble, I’m edgy, I’m unpredictable. I’m mischievous enough that…when I sense someone panicking at the user’s end…I get …shall we say…feisty? Prone to playing practical jokes? I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself.

Remember, for old time’s sake, the three “lll’s” you didn’t type in the word “colllege” in the cover letter for that job you really wanted? That was me at my best! Ha! You don’t want to work anywhere where they lack a sense of humor, do you? And the missing “o” in “proofreader”? "Profreader?" Rumor has it that you teach in a college. Do you suppose that word is a Freudian slap? I mean slip? That silly mistake was your own hasty fault. You didn’t bother to use the spellcheck feature. I admit that Mr. Spell Check is drab and tedious…doesn’t grasp anything “outside the box” (maybe because he lives in it) and plays entirely by the rules, even if they don’t make sense. ("The rules of technology" he certainly imbibed from the day he was conceived in the mind of that engineering student that couldn't spelll....) Once your fingers start step dancing on the keyboard, you know that your extaordinary mind won't miss a beat. Right?

Incidentally: Spell Check picked up some sorry habits along the way. He's lateral. I'm sorry, I meant to say: literal. Lean in and please don't tell anyone I told you: He color codes his tiny socks, all black and pure cotton, by day of the week. He won’t play trucks, I mean tricks…doesn’t know how!

Now, I bet you’re thinking of the time your resume wouldn’t print, period? You know: Not print even a period? That wasn’t me at all. And don't blame Spell Check. That was The Trusty Printer, whose warranty had just expired two days before. Like clockwork. T.T.P. goes right by the book. (Remember books?) A whole crew works on her to make sure that she doesn’t spurt one iota of extra of ink or powder (I mean power) or modify her even, modulated, predictable, whirring sound that's positively hypnogogic. I mean hypnotic. That is, until the warranty is up. What you might hear then sounds a lot like a cornered rabbit. Or--could it be that those sounds coming from you? Why moan? Two days past warranty is pretty good! Dial 1-800-BUY-MORE. You don’t think that innovations like cut-and-paste and click and instant reboot (sorry, rebate) come without a prize? (I meant to say: price.)

Whenever you get too cozy and assume you’ve finally figured me out, some engineer has already mutated my microchips, rewired my quarks, and rekindled my sparks. The less of me you actually see, the more you’ll be surprised. I promise. Who knows? Maybe, I’ll soon be living under your fingernails, recording every thought you didn’t utter. If you trim them, you’ll leave a trail…

C’mon—don’t be sacred. Let’s go typing!

Center Photo: The Spirit of Technology expressed itself long ago in Maria's genuine Walking Doll, whose hip screws predicted a future orthopedic convention. Maria spent the first two years of her life in pajamas, leading to a lifelong love of cotton, pastels, and elastic waist bands. Left and Right Photo Credit: U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service with a little help from Spirit of Technology (right).