This morning I had an issue creating a new content folder using the Blackboard software we use at the college when suddenly it stopped dead on its tracks and warned me of an unidentified error. I tried to copy an existing folder to see if I could coax the system into cooperating, but still — no love.
I asked a colleague about whom I should call to clear up the problem, and after a couple of tippy-taps on the keyboard, and navigating through a maze of vaguely worded headers on the Interweb, we came upon a sole PDF file proudly displaying a phone number for faculty to use in case there were some kind of problem with the system (DON’T SHARE THIS NUMBER WITH STUDENTS, a legend blazened below the digits).
I returned to my office and sat to follow the same rigamarole path that led us to the PDF, but before doing so, I decided not to call the IT desk number provided, but rather called myself to see if I had any answers. I extended my thumb and pinky finger on my right hand and cradled a make-believe phone on my chin and dialed my number. I already knew what I was going to ask myself, so I quickly told myself that yes, I had already logged off the system and logged in again, I had quit the browser and restarted it and yes, I had even turned the computer off and then back on again.
What I did not expect was my next question: “What browser are you using?”
“I use only Chrome,” I answered, with such disdain that surely I would quit answering the phone when people called for IT advice. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
My response sent chills down my spine, because not once during the 20 to 30 minutes of having this issue had I even considered what I recommended: “Have you tried opening the page using Internet Explorer?”
No. Not at all. Not for a second.
I sat and clicked the Start button to find IE, since I don’t even have the shortcut embedded in my taskbar anymore, and upon pasting the offending URL and requesting a new folder, a shiny icon popped to inform me of the successful build on the system.
“I hate you,” I spoke into my my hand, and quickly air-slammed the receiver above my desk. “I hate all of you.”