June 2002

Yes, We Have No Bananadwidth

by Greg Lawless

Last November we decided to take our small firm to the next level in technological sophistication. Until then, I had been the computer-maintenance person, and we had a system that worked pretty well. We had a sophisticated document-assembly program, computer-based legal research, e-mail, a Web site, and an interoffice network system. What we didn't have was the ability to access our office computers from home, which we viewed as a desirable function.

We hired a computer consulting firm, which, for purposes of this article, we shall call Dorks.com. Thanks to their excellent efforts, after four months of intense work and expense, we now have no e-mail, no Web site, and are still unable to access our computers from home. I am worried about what the future holds, because our "tech" has recently been commenting about how the antique 1912 Royal typewriter in my office is "really cool."

I have learned from many of my clients that our experience is not unique. Why do we tolerate it? Why do we accept truly awful service? Why is it okay for computer companies to sell products that break down daily and we accept it as the norm? It is because of an ancient fable.

The story, first told in 486 BC, is familiar to many of you. A couple lived in a 400-square-foot shack. The wife complained to the husband, "Herbert, I hate this tiny, dirt-floored, vermin-infested, no-cable-connection hovel. Do something!"

The husband consulted the wise man in the village, who advised the husband to bring a dog into the house, which the husband did. On successive days, the wise man had the husband bring into the hut a chicken, a goat, a horse, Shamu the killer whale, a wooly mammoth, and an Amway salesperson.

On the 30th day, the wise man had the husband get rid of all the animals. The husband was astounded at how his tiny shack now seemed like a spacious palace — in part because all the animals were gone, and in part because Shamu ate his wife (hence the name "killer whale").

Tragically, the computer industry has latched onto that fable and made it their business plan. I know in our case, after a few more months of agony, my system will be almost as good as it was before they "fixed" it, and I will be delighted. "This is great," I will say. "Now it's only a little worse than it was a year ago." Who could ask anything more?

Realizing the path I am on, I've decided it's time to fight back. I have recognized that one of the primary reasons I have fallen into the mentality of the man in the fable is that when our tech explains a problem with our system, I have no idea what he is talking about, so I smile and nod and attempt to at least appear that I am following the conversation. Does this sound like something at your office?

Greg: The computer doesn't work.

Tech: Well, the static IP isn't configured for a DSL, so the sonic wall is routing to a different ISP, which can't recognize the POP address or the roving IP.

Greg: That's a relief. For a while there I thought the computer didn't work. (We both laugh at my stupidity.) Still — the computer doesn't work.

I've decided to fight fire with fire, and so have created a list of error messages that sound very technical, so when I need to report a problem, I can communicate just as poorly as our tech. If we customers could universally use this same system (making sure the computer industry doesn't have access), we can confuse them as much as they do us. Here are my error messages:

1. We have a fibulating nonconducting triumpherate data connector.
2. Standard error 686.37, loop system interface.
3. System pink, system pink, system pink.
4. Our Shamu is whiteside up.
5. We have a power interrupt socket megawire triton conducting cable out of alignment with the two- or three-prong cavity wall fixator.
6. I think people can see me through the monitor, and they are poisoning me with microwaves and fluoride.
7. I can't get our check-writing program to work.

1. The computer doesn't work.
2. The computer doesn't work.
3. The computer doesn't work, you're making me sick, and I spilled Pepto-Bismol on the keyboard.
4. The computer doesn't work, and you can take your fable and read it to a dead fish.
5. The computer doesn't work, so I unplugged it. Can you figure out how to plug it back in?
6. The computer doesn't work, and you'd better fix it fast because I've lost my mind.
7. There's some advantage to the computer not working. Your invoice will look like parchment before it gets paid.

1. Fix the computer.
2. Fix the stupid computer.
3. Fix the miserable, stupid computer.
4. Fix the miserable, stupid, wretched computer.
5. Fix the miserable, stupid, wretched, stinking computer.
6. Fix the miserable, stupid, wretched, stinking, slimy computer.
7. I can live with this.

Greg Lawless practices law with his wife, Janine, in the Ballard area of Seattle. He is former chair of the King County Bar Association Real Property and Probate Section, and the editor of the Real Property Section Washington Lawyers' Practice Manual. Mr. Lawless plays the banjo in his bluegrass group, the Weavils.