Dee is 60-something, a smoker and just a real nice lady. She greets me by name when I walk in at 8:59 and says good morning as I sit down next to her.
Like a lot of people in the class, she struggles with the HHC, or hand-held computer. Yesterday I helped her tap on the "OK" button to advance to the next screen.
To Dee, this was cold fusion.
"Wow! You're so quick! How did you know how to do that?"
I got a little embarrassed. "Oh, I don't know. I mean. . . I guess I use computers a lot."
"So do you practice at home?" She pointed to the HHC, or hand-held computer, with the stylus.
"Oh, not really. It's just . . . you know, like computers are kind of a hobby, I guess. You know?"
"Do you have one of those PDAs?" She got a little flustered. "Do they still make PDAs? I don't even know what they're called anymore! Are they PDAs?" I guess Dee hadn't noticed that I spent most of class fucking around on my iPhone.
"Um. . . I have, you know, yeah. . . I have a PDA type of thing, yeah." I glanced at my iPhone in my bag. Maybe I have new mail! Or a text message! Or both!
Dee went back to scrunching up her face at the HHC, or hand-held computer.
The HHC, or hand-held computer, looks and acts like what an iPhone would look and act like if it were designed by the government and ran Windows.