P.C. CORNER

Have you ever run into some nagging problem while using the Science Center basement computers and sought help from a user assistant (UA)?

I have. As much as I know about computers and the fact that I should be familiar with all the hardware and software housed on them, at times I find myself plagued by an otherwise seemingly minor problem I am simply not able to overcome.

Just the other day, for example, I braved one of this year's earlier-than-usual New England snow storms in order to trek down to Science Center to print out an envelope.

I had always found it a breeze to print out envelopes--that is, before someone replaced the two Apple Laser-Writer IIs connected to the two Macs in the laser-printing room with new Hewlett-Packard LaserJet 4Ms.

It turned out although the HPs have a manual paper-feeder that seems to let you print envelopes--there is an envelope sign on the feeder--it was not immediately clear to me how to insert the envelope. After 15 minutes and 40 cents wasted on failed attempts, I became desperate.

When I get desperate I first look around to make sure no one is around staring at what I am trying to do. Not that I think someone is going to recognize me as the guy who writes this column for The Crimson. But being caught not knowing what the heck is happening always makes me feel ashamed of myself--especially in a computer-related situation.

I breathed a sigh of relief. The only other person in the printing room was apparently having some trouble printing her document. I sneaked out of the room and came face to face with the only UA on duty.

I tried to explain to him what I was trying to do. I was much relieved when he uttered the words I had been hoping for, "Oh, yeah, I know how to do that." He walked swiftly out of Room B13, the office for UAs in the East Terminal Room, and onto the battlefield, as fully confident as he appeared to be.

My relief turned into suspicion when he repeated what I had tried to do. I mean, if he could make the cursed thing work by doing that, it should have worked while I was doing it. Sure enough, he couldn't get the envelope printed. After five minutes and claiming 20 more cents on my VendaCard, he retreated.

I lost hope. That's it, I thought. Now I'll be forced to hand write the envelope, and I'll never get the job when the addressee, a recruiting manager, sees my scrawl. She won't second-guess how much trouble I went through to get this envelope printed.

The story does have a happy ending. Just as I was walking past the user assistant, having given up the idea of having a laser-printed envelope, he offered to print it for me on the Apple LaserWriter in his office.

While this UA did solve my problem, I think he typified most other UAs: friendly, sympathetic, but often lacking the knowledge necessary to assist people having problems. Ask them anything that's technical (as opposed to asking for a form or a stapler), they nod and keep on smiling, but they are not going to be your White Knight.

One reason why the UAs are not too helpful, I think, is that they are students just like you and me. They need a job, see an ad seeking help in Room B13, sign up, get the job, receive some training (what the training involves I do not know), and get placed at the help window. You walk up to them thinking: Aha, here is someone I can trust. But oftentimes you are bound to be disappointed.

My suggestion to HASCS is that they employ a more professional staff who knows its way around computers. Staff members may have to be paid more, but they deserve the money for being able to help users resolve computer problems. A positive side effect of this professionalism is more appreciation for the staff by Harvard student users.

Of course, student positions need not be eliminated. But only students who can do a good job and not disappoint users should be hired. Just purchasing more computing power and application programs do not necessarily make most users happy; a professional support staff will.

And tidying up some odds and ends in this last edition of P.C. Corner:

A piece of fan mail I received a while ago deserves to be answered here.

Dear P.C. Corner:

I think one of my pupils is larger than the other. No, not that one, the other one. See? Isn't that weird?

Anyway, do you think computers did this?

--Bewildered in Cabot

Dear Bewildered,

Your pupils are not weird; you are.

This column started just under a year ago as a source of computer information for students at Harvard, more and more of whom have woken up to the computer age. I attempted to make my articles as accessible to the reader as possible, and, from the reactions of readers, that goal seems to have been met most of the time.

I have every wish to go on writing. But my thesis and job hunt in spring will occupy too much of my time to allow me the luxury of writing for The Crimson regularly. Hence this P.C. Corner piece will be the last. However, once my workload becomes tolerable, I will be back to report on computer issues at Harvard.

Haibin Jiu '94, associate photography chair of The Crimson, is writing a senior thesis on Treasury bond futures as well as looking for a job that "will benefit society."