Wednesday, Sept. 14, 2005 - 3:39 P.M.

On many occasions I�ve stated my complete and utter dislike for the fact that I am the company IT person (for lack of better terminology). My status was born out of necessity and not by the fact that I actually know what I�m doing. Because I don�t. Half the time. Still, necessity or not, I don�t want to know about gigabytes and macros, ftp settings and exporting, permissions and archiving. I do not wish nor need to fill up my brain with these things. Cause there�s only so much space up there, ya know? And I�ve got pop culture to remember, song lyrics to memorize and a new fall television schedule to learn.

That is why when I run across a problem I don�t know how to solve I am extra thankful for those of you who work in tech support. Mostly. Let�s face it, some tech support folks don�t know as much or, much more, than I do. (True story: I once had to explain to a tech support person what a hard drive was. I swear!)

Yes, it�s nice to have someone to call that can help you out with these issues when they occur. Only problem is, it�s been my experience (at least with Dell and Quicken) that every time (that�s not an exaggeration, I really do mean every time) I call tech support, the person on the other end is Indian. If there�s a tech issue not relating to either Dell or Quicken, I guarantee you there�s at least a 75% chance the tech support person for that company will be Indian. I�ve wondered the reason for this many, many times. Too many. Again, taking up precious brain space with a matter not of life-and-death importance.

Now, look, I have nothing against India. Don�t send me e-mail saying I�m an India hater. Get your fingers off the home keys, jump-the-gun�ers.

Sona, my best friend growing up was Indian. I loved to have dinner at her house. Her mother always fixed the most wonderful Indian food. And, oh! the curry! MMMMMM. Also, her mother always wore sari�s, which, to me, a little girl from Nashville, Tennessee, who�d never traveled anywhere, was very exotic. And Sona would tell stories about India that were so foreign to me and my way of life--like the fact that there were lizards all over the place there, everywhere, and when you�d crawl into bed you could lift up your covers and see beady, shiny eyes staring back at you. And it wouldn�t be Colin Farrell. Stories like the fact that her house had a flat clay roof and that was the gathering place when the entire family came calling (which back then seemed kind of sweet and cool but now it just seems hella crazy�Hello? Cave in much?). Stories like the fact that she, Sona, was �promised� to someone already. (She moved when I was 15 and we lost touch. I wonder a lot what happened with that whole arranged marriage thing.)

I was with her family a lot. On one errand running occasion, we stopped at a building somewhere in downtown Nashville. Everyone stayed in the car save for her father. Outside, I could hear various animals making noise but could not see the animals. I had no idea what animal those noises even belonged to. [I realize you might think that because I�m from Tennessee I should be up on all my farm animals but at that point in my life the closest I had come to a farm was a shoe store called Big Red Barn Shoes where, after your shoe purchase, a mechanical chicken laid a surprise-filled egg.] Anyhow, her father got out of the car with just himself and got back in the car with an entire (ready for cooking) goat. I was a bit freaked out. I don�t think I�d ever even seen a goat and I sure didn�t know you could actually eat one. And, no, I did not stay for dinner that night.

It�s just that a southerner speaking to an Indian and an Indian trying to understand said southerner and vice versa, especially when you�re dealing with very technical issues that must be explained perfectly exact and precise, well, the likelihood for trouble is high. You might be thinking to yourself right now, �Well, I mean, they might be Indian but they live in America and so I�m sure they�ve adopted certain voice patterns and phraseology.� You would be wrong and I�ll tell you why.

Last night on PBS, Wide Angle, a weekly international documentary series aired. This particular episode focused on the issue of outsourcing and offshoring jobs to other countries, particularly India. A lot of which were IT jobs. Also, just as an aside, if you use a computer or software company that practices outsourcing, did you know that when you dial up the toll-free number, you�re actually calling India?

Contained in the episode was this quote: �In the early days of call centers in India, employees were coached in accents -- American, Australian, English. But now the industry has matured and the only accent training is for clear pronunciation.�

So, now I know, and you know (in case you were wondering, and c�mon, you were), why most of the IT personnel I�ve ever dealt with are Indian. I know why those phone calls often turn into a routine closely imitating that of Abbott & Costello�s �Who�s On First?� I know why my saying, �floppy� and them saying, �floopy� occurs.

Best of all, I can now erase that curiosity from my brain and go learn the lyrics to the Gorillaz�s �Feel Good Inc.,� which I know I�ll need considerable mind real estate for.

I�ll probably even have to boot some other frivolous fact or queer question from my brain. Like, why does my lipstick wear off my lips but stay on plastic cups even after they�ve been run through the dishwasher fifty-eleven times?

(((Poof)))�and just like that it�s gone.

You Give Me Fervor - Friday, Feb. 17, 2006
Revamped Sex Camp - Thursday, Jan. 26, 2006
I'm Not Dead - Tuesday, Jan. 10, 2006
Ebert And Roeper? Watch Your Backs. - Tuesday, Nov. 29, 2005
Coffee? Tea? Map? - Monday, Nov. 07, 2005

� Purplecigar

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