My 9 a.m. Wednesday drive is uneventful. The Tampa Public Library on Berkely St. is a comfortable 30 minute ride from my apartment. Being the way I have always been, I allow time in case I get a flat, am held up by an accident. I am confident I will be an early bird being one of the first inside. Today turns out to be that unexpected exception. The parking lot is full. Having made two complete surveys, I get lucky, spot a lady pulling out all the way at the end, next to the many trash cans. It is a squeeze for her and a tighter one for me but I make it.
The library has not yet opened its doors. The usual small group of readers has swollen to at least twenty adults and 30 teens. My mind swirls. What do these people know that I don’t know? What’s going on? Then I see it, a sign on the entrance post, ‘Wed. 10 a.m., the Rockers will be reviewing their new book, ‘Rock It To Me’ and will be giving out 25 free discs.’ Egads! Maybe I should go home. No, stay the course. My portfolio tugs at my arm, tells me to let the kids do their thing and I shouldn’t let them turn my day to crap.
Once inside I walk quickly to the computer area but not quickly enough. Every ‘puter is already taken. Rude though I know I am, I ask several teens of all sexes how long they expect to be. One, with a mean snarl on his face, replies, ‘As long as I want, Old Man.’ I’m hot. I’m angry. I’m 39 and not an old man. The first 15 minutes I pace, go up and down the aisles of busy computers. The young people give me dirty looks. I return them as I point to my watch and am ignored.
The Rockers walk in together, all six of them. 90% of the computer users stand and applaud. I stand still and grimace. Soon their talk will begin in the Studio Room that is surely going to be inadequate. I haven’t mentioned yet that the few users who aren’t Rocker fans (besides myself) are seniors and toddlers. Some of the seniors hit delete instead of send and then look puzzled. ‘Where did my spell- checked email go?’ The Web is an unknown monster. Mothers try to teach 3 and 4 year olds how to do the alphabet on line, how to click on ‘funny face.’ At last a young mother, holding her child’s hand, motions to me she is leaving and I can take her computer. I do so, thank her and add with a smile, ‘I love you.’
I sit down, make myself comfortable, set up my folder and touch ‘on.’ Nothing comes on. The few tricks I know don’t help. A Rover passes and I am able to get his attention, explain the puter won’t work. He asks me, ‘What did you do to it, Mr.?’ My honest, simple reply is ‘Nothing. I just sat down.’ The Rover promises to get a tech over to help me as soon as he can and suggests I not hold my breadth. He disappears amongst beckoning arms.
Luck comes my way. Within 5 minutes I am in front of a working world.
For some foolish reason, I go to the web looking up The Rockers. There are dozens of URLs. I choose # 3 and am not surprised. The Rockers are ‘the new kids on the block.’ The youngest is 12, the oldest 18. They come from Australia and they have 5 new albums on the market. That was as much as I wanted to know.
For some foolish reason, I go to the web looking up The Rockers. There are dozens of URLs. I choose # 3 and am not surprised. The Rockers are ‘the new kids on the block.’ The youngest is 12, the oldest 18. They come from Australia and they have 5 new albums on the market. That was as much as I wanted to know.
My email awaits me. There are 60 messages less 2 spams. Starting at the bottom, the earliest sent during the night and work my way up to the most recent. As I do so, ‘You’ve got mail’ lets me know what is going on. I do amaze myself as I believe I find something of interest to share with each of my cyberspace pals. Sometimes we discuss politics, argue, agree and drop it. Once in a while the discussion leads to a parting of the ways. I joke with flirtatious girls, not ever believing anything they write and maybe they aren’t even girls. They may be government people looking for predators. Who knows what they are thinking about me?
The elderly lady across from me starts to put her papers together. I follow suit, ready to switch computers, get an extra hour. New mail is arriving faster than I can answer. One is from Australia and I don’t know a soul there. How the person I assume to be female got my address I don’t know. She explains in her reply to my reply that Lillian in Amsterdam is a friend of Charles who is a pal of Mike’s who lives in Santiago and is part of my ‘group’. I am learning more about Australia daily than I learned in Geography Class 101 in high school. We chat for almost ½ hour when my time runs out. My new notes have almost crowded out my old ones. I’ll need a bigger folder before I return.
I walk towards the book check out counter, pass the puter that a tech was to fix and see it is still dark.
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