Gavin’s Digital Diner

My car doesn’t trust me. My bank thinks I’m stupid. Fact is there are quite a number of things that seem to think I’m royally dense. The sad thing is I’m starting to believe them. The list includes the dipsy-dumpster down the road, my car, Amazon.com, and the American automobile industry.

Every day, as I drive to work in the birthplace of GM, I’m reminded of just how stupid they must think I am. On my drive, a billboard screams out “20 MPG!”

“Welcome to the idiocracy,” I mumble. As gasoline approaches $4.00 per gallon, and we suffer the geopolitical effects of oil addiction, only an idiot would see “20 MPG” as an enticement. They obviously think I’m an idiot.

The sad truth is that, if we had anywhere near the fleet MPG average of, say, Europe, we’d import no OPEC oil at all. Europe has a 40 MPG average, ours: half that.

Now, it wouldn’t be so bad if all these things didn’t take the opportunity to remind me every chance they get.

The uppity dumpster down the street has its reminder blazoned in big yellow letters, right on its lid. There, for the entire world to see is a reminder of just how stupid I might be: “Do not drop lid on head” it says. It must really think I’m stupid. But, nevertheless, I studiously avoid dropping the lid on my head.

Amazon continues to suggest that I just might want to buy “SharePoint 2007 for Dummies,” “Digital Photography for Dummies,” and “Canadian History for Dummies.” Does it know something I don’t? Who’s been talking, eh? Who, in his or her right mind, buys a book that starts out assuming you’re stupid?

I try to convince Amazon that I’m not a dummy – clicking on all the highbrow titles I can find – to no avail. It’s the idiot’s guide for me. I revolt against buying “dummies” books. I’d be embarrassed to have them seen on my book shelf, let alone carry them under my arm. Even if I’m a dummy, I don’t want to advertize the fact.

My car’s judgmental attitude is ever present. It reminds me of its lowly opinion of me every time I use the navigation system. I’m sure it’s chuckling to itself. Muttering things like: “Can’t read a map. What a bozo.” But, I still use it, pressing “accept” on the disclaimer that appears every time I turn it on. Acknowledging that its directions might not be totally accurate, and they’re not responsible if I just happen to drive into a river or something; failing to notice the “bridge out” signs as I blithely drive by wire. Clearly they think I’m an idiot. And just as clearly, I “accept” the fact every time I use it.

In today’s world, even consumer products think I’m pretty damn dense. Kellogg does. Pop tarts come with instructions. Not just simple instructions, I could understand if they said something like:

Step 1: Toast.

Or maybe two steps:     

Step 1: Toast

Step 2: Eat.

But no, that’s not sufficient. Instead there are three steps, just for the toasting, that include how to remove it from the package, and advice on how and when to eat it. That doesn’t include the guidelines on toaster maintenance, or the microwave instructions. [Microwave a pop tart? Now that's just insane. Yuck.]

Then there is my bank. Every time I drive through the drive-through ATM, they remind me just what they think of me. I stare at the small notice — located above the Braille instructions: “Braille instructions are provided for our sight-impaired customers.” “D’oh,” I never would have guessed! (We won’t even talk about the fact that it’s on a drive-thru ATM — that’s too hackneyed.)

There’s a danger here. If you treat people like idiots, they’ll act like idiots. Study after study has shown that if you tell a teacher that the students in their classroom are the “bright ones”… they’ll magically do better on tests. You tell another that they’ve got the “not-so-bright” ones and their test scores will fall. Treat somebody like an idiot and they’ll meet your expectations, every time. Welcome to the idiocracy.

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