Essay: Remote control confusion

Dis-a-bil-i-ty (noun) – an inability to perform some or all of the tasks of daily life.

Under this definition, I am clearly disabled. Luckily, I live in a nation that assists even the most challenged to fit in with the mainstream. With this in mind, I am lobbying for a new social program to deal with my heartbreaking problem — Remotacantdoita (the inability to use a remote control).

A list numbered one through 12 sits on the table by my chair in front of our new television set. If I read it carefully and follow the steps to the letter, the TV, receiver and DVD player should work together like a well-coached team. Or so I'm told.

Buttons, buttons everywhere!
There are exactly 64 buttons on the remote control that my husband Bob programmed to be "universal", which means it'll do everything short of writing and producing the news. So why is it that we still sometimes need one of the other remote controls?

My eyes glaze over as Bob explains whether I should push V1 or AUX or PIP for the DVD player, stereo, Playstation or Wii. On a single remote, there are buttons labelled TV, TV/Video, View TV, and iTV. There are buttons to go back, go forward, skip back, skip forward, or simply change position. There's a green button labelled "R". What does it do? Is it recall, rerun, review?

"Got it?" he asks me when he is finished pointing out all the critical features.

"Uh huh," I answer numbly, and go to the kitchen for a badly needed glass of wine.

It's just me and the remotes
Bob recently left town for a couple of nights, leaving me gleefully alone with our big screen TV, our satellite and our surround-sound speakers. For once, I would have an entire weekend without football, basketball or stock car racing. And yet the house was quiet save for the increasingly heavy pounding of my index finger. I pushed so many buttons that the TV practically reprogrammed itself to become a microwave.

Slumping dejectedly, I considered calling Bob and asking for instructions but knew I would never live it down. I sniffed and picked up the phone.

Click to continue...

Seeking help
"It's me," I whined to my daughter's voicemail. "Are you there? I want to watch a movie. Call and tell me how to make the **!!!# thing work." I hung up the phone as tears started to well. "I just don't get it," I wailed to the blank television screen.

When my daughter called back later that night, she convinced me that I needed help. "There must be others like you out there," she assured me later, her voice soothing but — was it possible? — almost condescending. "Find a support group. Share your feelings. You can overcome this — you have to overcome this."

A plea for support
Of course, she was right. The sheet of paper by my chair is Step 1 on my road to leading a normal life. I have found that there are people like me out there, mainly middle aged folks like myself, many of whom have suffered the humiliation and frustration of having to pass the remote to toddler grandchildren in order to turn on cartoons.

It is on their behalf that I am applying for government funding to start a much-needed assistance program. Letters to my M.P. have not yet been acknowledged but there is a demonstration planned for this weekend and we've arranged for national television coverage.

I just hope my M.P. knows how to use a remote so he can watch it.

Even if you can't get the TV on today, you probably still remember favourite shows from days gone by. Find your TV-IQ with our TV-show trivia test.

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