This came about from a joke I read when I was younger, where the I. D. Ten T was the punchline. I was so tickled I had to make it into a story.
Mr. Ethan Viner stared at his computer screen, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. He looked down at his keyboard. Where was the letter ‘E’? he wondered, his eyes skimming across the keyboard. He found it and proceeded to press it triumphantly. Resisting the urge to give a victory cry or anything cliché, he picked up a piece of paper. He scanned its contents and sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. He still had more than a thousand words to type and it was really beginning to irk him. He massaged his temples. Why couldn’t they arrange the keyboard alphabetically? Why must they insist on such a complex arrangement? Mr. Ethan just could not fathom why. He rubbed his eyes. What he’d give to have the good ol’ days of the typewriter…
He heaved another massive sigh, pushing himself out of his chair tiredly. He clicked the little ‘save’ button and ambled out of the room, wanting to make himself a nice cup of the strongest coffee mix he could find.
Now little Emma watched as her father went downstairs. She knew by the look of his face that he was going to make a cup of coffee – her daddy’s personal joy-bringer. She gleefully seized this opportunity and rushed into her father’s study room, to the computer. Emma excitedly opened her favourite website and began playing the games. Not long after that, she heard the telltale creak of the staircase, signaling her father’s return. In a harried frenzy, Emma just pressed the ‘off’ button on the monitor screen and ran out to greet her father with a hug, feigning total innocence.
Mr. Ethan smiled fondly at his daughter and patted her head absent-mindedly before she ran into her room. He trudged back to his study, a steaming cup of black coffee in his hand, its aroma giving Mr. Ethan renewed vigour. He braced himself and sat down, bravely facing his computer screen…only to find it blank.
His renewed vigour vanished faster than a rat down a hole. Mr. Ethan did then what any ‘dinosaur’ man would do; he panicked. He mashed the mouse furiously and pressed every single key on the keyboard (it even had the nerve to make beeping noises! At him!), but to no avail. His computer screen stayed the same, its blank, black face almost mocking Mr. Ethan. He restarted the computer. He unplugged and re-plugged all the cables, wires and plugs. Nothing worked. Frustrated, Mr. Ethan aimed a kick at the CPU. He yelped as pain shot through his foot and up his leg.
Muttering profanities under his breath, he hobbled back to his chair and sank down into it once again, rubbing his sore toes. Picking up the phone, he punched some numbers into it, a little harder than necessary.
“TNT. How may we help you?” answered the clear, cool tone of the receptionist.
“I am Ethan Viner and my computer’s gone berserk,” growled Mr. Ethan.
The woman was unfazed by the hostility in Mr. Ethan’s voice. “Is that so? Do you know what’s wrong with it?”
“If I knew what was wrong, I wouldn’t have bothered calling!”
“Okay, okay,” her clipped tone said hurriedly. “Can you tell me what happened to your computer, sir?”
Mr. Ethan huffed touchily. “I was typing a speech on Microsoft Word. Then I left to make a drink. When I came back, my computer screen was blank. No sign of my documents anywhere!”
“Did you try moving the mouse, sir?”
“Yes I did every d*mn thing imaginable. I even unplugged and re-plugged everything, for goodness’ sake! But nothing worked. I demand you send someone over this very instant.” His tone held a layered threat.
“Hmm,” she hesitated, weighing the possibilities. She sighed. “Very well. Please tell us where you live, sir.”
Mr. Ethan gave his address and promptly hung up. Within a few minutes, his doorbell rang. With a satisfied grunt, he hurried to the door and opened it.
“Howdy there, Mr. Viner sir! Now where’s tha’ compu’er tha’s givin’ ya trouble” exclaimed the technician brightly.
Mr. Ethan showed the technician to his study and jabbed his finger in the direction of his rebellious computer. The technician regarded the computer silently. His eyes roamed the whole computer before settling on the bottom of the monitor. As if in slow motion, he lifted a finger and pushed the little button on the monitor. Mr. Ethan stared agape as the screen flickered back to life when the technician prodded the mouse.
Mr. Ethan was flabbergasted and absolutely in…awe. How did he fix it in a matter of seconds? Amazing! Mr. Ethan clapped a hand on the technician’s back appreciatively.
“How much?” he asked, getting out his wallet heartily.
The technician shook his head. “Naw, no charge a’ all, migh’y sir.”
Mr. Ethan was beyond grateful. He praised the technician and led him to the door, thinking that perhaps this new generation wasn’t so bad after all…
“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Ethan suddenly as the technician walked out of his compound. “Would you mind telling me what the problem was? In case it occurs again…”
The technician turned around and gave Mr. Ethan a sly grin. “Oh, naw. Nothin’ too dangerous. Jus’ a case of I. D. Ten T, really.”
“I. D. Ten T?” Mr. Ethan frowned. “What’s that?”
The technician smirked. “Try writin’ it down, sir.” He raised his hand in farewell and continued on his way, whistling a catchy tune.
Mr. Ethan stared after the technician’s retreating back, puzzled, before shutting the door firmly. Strolling to his study once more, he plopped down onto his hair. It groaned in protest under his weight as he reached for a pen and paper.
“I. D. Ten T…” he mumbled, scribbling it down messily. It took a few seconds for his brain to completely register what he had just written. The notion of the newer generation being not that bad after all flew out of the window.
There, scrawled on the piece of paper in Mr. Ethan’s handwriting, was one word:
ID10T
…the new generation is the worst ever, Mr. Ethan concluded with a snarl. He got up and stormed downstairs. He needed more coffee, pronto.
Emma heard the commotion and knew this was another chance. She hastily ran to her father’s study and resumed her games. Just as she was about to win, the staircase creaked and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the room. Left with no option but to abandon her win, Emma pressed the button again and ran back to her den.
Her father stumbled into the room, saw his blank monitor screen, gave a howl of anguish and sank to the floor, coffee in hand, utterly defeated, as his computer played a little audio clip that sounded very much like the taunting tune.
Suffering from ID10T? Indeed.