“It’s not easy until it is” is my mantra concerning anything even the slightest bit mechanical. For instance, there is a bike rack – actually two – on the buses run by the CDTA. The first time I attempted to use it, I couldn’t figure it out for about three minutes. I do think that there was a busload of people who want to go home didn’t help. The bus driver was not allowed to leave the bus to assist.
Finally, voila. Then it was easy. So simple, in fact, when other people are having trouble figuring out its use, I have gotten out of the bus to help them.
The first time I took an at-home COVID test, the instructions made it seem very complicated. Now, easy peasy. (Do people still say easy peasy?)
This happens to me a lot with technology. I read the manual, but there’s a disconnect in my brain. This does depend on who’s writing them, of course. There was a Picasa software for putting pictures in a Blogger/Blogspot blog; I NEVER understood it. By trial and error, I figured out a workaround.
The most complicated thing at church had nothing to do with the fact that our pastors are on sabbatical from May to September. Making coffee had been the purview of the custodian. Since the last fellow left early in 2022, the church’s elders hired a service to clean the bathrooms, vacuum, etc. This doesn’t include making coffee, though. A series of volunteers have to make it.
One recent Sunday, my wife was tasked to set up for the coffee hour, meaning making coffee. She had once made coffee at another venue with a different machine, but she was hardly experienced.
I was of no help. Back in the early days of my last job, someone determined that everybody had to make the coffee because it was “fair.” Fair to whom? I never have drunk coffee, to the apparent horror of some people. Seriously.
But I made it once. It was apparently so terrible that I never had to do it again. I’d like to say that I sabotaged it intentionally, but I did not. Still, I couldn’t tell if it was too strong or weak because, as noted, I don’t drink coffee.
For my wife’s task, it turned out to be more complicated than she thought. So when a couple of folks who had made the coffee before came in, I enlisted their help. One said, “There are instructions.” Yes, I know; my wife knows. But the coffee was spilling on the burner. It turns out the whatchamacallit had to be in a certain position, totally contrary to her instincts or mine. So next time, it’ll be easier, probably.