Unzipped

I will not do it with an urge

I will not do it in a surge

I will not let you use the verge

I will not do a zipper merge

Traffic engineers in a number of states, including Washington, have embarked upon an “educational” campaign to convince drivers to adopt the so-called “zipper merge.”  They’re out of their calculating little minds.

You know the situation:  you’re driving on a freeway, in the right lane where you’re supposed to be.  Off to the side appears an orange “Lane Ends” sign. Since you’re a good driver who always pays attention and plans ahead, you check your mirrors, find a suitable opening in the traffic flow, and gently ease into the left lane.  Soon, inevitably, the traffic slows and even comes to a halt, and you wait patiently in line as it lurches forward.

Suddenly, some yahoo in an Audi (they always seem to drive either a German car or a Prius) zooms past you in the soon-to-end right lane.  They reach the end of the lane and nudge their way in, whether there’s a suitable space or not, while you simmer a quarter-mile back.  It’s a blatant expression of privilege and arrogance, and you’re righteously furious.

Now the State DOT is telling us that they’re right and you’re wrong!

The problem is that the traffic engineers inhabit an ideal universe, a place where logic and cooperation prevail.  A place where some will sacrifice by waiting in line for the benefit of others who cut the line.  A place where everybody understands and agrees upon the rules of the road.

It ain’t here, babe.  Zipper merging is a formula for road rage and unbridled aggression, a test of wills between the merger and the mergee.  It rewards the inattentive and indecisive, the texters and passionate conversationalists, the just plain pushy and the passive/aggressive.

Get this, drivers:  when the sign says the lane is ending, THE LANE IS ENDING.  Deal with it.  Don’t wait until the last moment and then expect me to generously make way for you.

How to Destroy Your Image

Teaching is a performance.  That’s why I need to have a roadie.

Bruce Springsteen would never go out on the road without an accompanying circus of electricians, set technicians, roustabouts and assistants.  Why, then, shouldn’t I have just one modest minion?

When I taught at Bellevue College, we had modern classrooms filled with current technology.  I presided over the class from behind a lecturn with controls for an overhead projector, surround-sound speakers, two computers (a PC and a Mac), and a DVD/VCR player.  I could show movies and YouTube clips, use PowerPoints and project copies of student essays or internet articles; I was a wizard conducting a magic show.  Problems occasionally arose—the projector’s light might burn out or the DVD player might fail—but I had technicians waiting and ready to intervene.

Then I retired and left the academic bubble.  I started volunteering to teach classes for other seniors.  My “institution” is a small, private group with extremely limited resources, so I decided to bring my own.  Confident and proud, I carried my laptop into the classroom to marry it up to their portable projector and tiny speakers.

A teacher, especially in the first few class sessions, must project confidence and competence.  In my current situation, I have to compete with a warm-to-stuffy room and the fact that I’m stealing time away from afternoon naps (including my own.)  These are not an audience conditioned to consider themselves subordinate to the all-knowing, all-powerful professor; these are peers, some with degrees every bit as advanced as my own.  To makes that all-important first impression, one requirement is paramount:

The equipment has to work.

So, before I can impress my audience with a nugget of knowledge or enlist their empathy with a self-disparaging joke, I have to plug in all the right wires.  And I have no more than five to ten minutes to do it, while people trickle in and watch.

First day, first class:  While the laptop is booting, I search for the USB port on the projector.  None.  I finally find a VGA port, but my laptop doesn’t have a VGA port.  Fortunately, the Center’s Director has an adaptor that converts VGA to HDMI, and my laptop does have one of those.  Problem solved.

Except it’s already seven minutes into the class.  And the projector doesn’t project.

I unplug and re-plug.  Nothing.  I reboot the computer.  The projector shows a blank blue square of light, nothing more.  Eleven minutes into the class, and I haven’t even introduced myself yet.  The Director comes in to help.  She unplugs and re-plugs, and crawls on the floor to check all the cables.  The projector projects the same blank blue square.  Eighteen minutes into the class.  I give up and go to “Plan B”, improvising a lecture out of hastily-recalled lectures past.

In the week before the next class, the Director experiments with the setup and eventually finds that one must start the projector before booting the computer.  Problem solved.

Confidence renewed, I open the next class session with a streaming TED talk off the Internet.  The image is excellent, given the fact that there’s no way to darken the room and I have to project onto a beige wall because the only screen is in use by another class.  But hey—we’re all adults here.  We can adapt.

Except there’s no sound.  The speakers are properly plugged in and powered, but they make no noise.  Plan B.2. 

My competence under serious challenge, I buy speakers of my own and set them up at home.  These are silent too.  A lengthy bout of befuddlement ensues.  Ultimately, I think to check the “Devices” list and find that I need an updated Sound Card driver.  These are supposed to update automatically but somehow haven’t.  I update, and I have sound.

Third class.  The entire plan for this day is to show a video.  My laptop doesn’t have a DVD drive, but I have an external one.  My audience watching expectantly, my computer screen projecting onto the wall, I pop the DVD into the drive and wait for “Autoplay”.  Nothing happens.  I go to Windows Explorer, find the external drive, and click on it.  Nothing.  I then discover that I can’t locate an icon for the long-established Windows Media program.  That, I discover later, is because Microsoft eliminated it from Windows 10.  Fortunately, I have other Media Player programs installed, so I open them one-by-one.  None of them access the DVD drive.  It turns out that Microsoft decided that nobody uses DVDs any longer, so they removed the ability to play them entirely.  They are happy to sell me an app that will play DVDs, but it’s no longer standard equipment, and reviewers almost universally pan it.  Plan B.3.

Next class will be class #4, halfway through an 8-week term.  I’m confirmed in my ineptitude in front of the class, and I’ve already used up all the material I had planned to present systematically throughout the term. But I actually have students who arrive early and enthusiastically.  They’re eager to see what happens next.

I’m beginning to rethink this whole retirement thing.