TECH DELAY

“James Petros,” a familiar voice bellowed from the doctor’s room, stopping him in his tracks. He cursed himself for taking the lift instead of the stairs, which were closer to his office.

There was only one person who called him by both his names: Professor Samson Macintosh, a towering ex-military scholar who had been expelled from the camp for allegedly organizing a coup he called “The Magnet,” a force he claimed could not be stopped even by him. Samson Macintosh, a self-proclaimed great-grandchild of Humphrey Chetham, one of the pioneers of state libraries and research across Europe. He claimed to have studied medicine and philosophy solely through the books in these libraries. A walking encyclopaedia, always dressed in a three-piece suit with a bowtie and his five medals proudly displayed under his breast pocket.

“See, this is the problem with technology,” he lamented, pressing hard on the keyboard to fill the box on the screen before a hazard sign appeared. He must have been there for a while because his coat was on the chair. James had never seen him without it, revealing his belly heaving heavily with frustration.

“Back in my days, James,” Professor Samson said, standing up and ushering him to sit in front of the computer. He walked briskly and slid under the table before the scholar got upset. “Things were simple. I could see everything clearly on paper because I could trust my pen. The indelible ink from Sussex captured my thoughts like a honeycomb.”

James nodded, still unsure of what he was dealing with. With cowardly courage, he asked, “What seems to be the problem? Maybe I can help.”

“That is the problem, James… Technology. Haven’t you been listening to me?” Professor Samson replied.

“Yes, sir… Professor, I have,” James said.

A moment’s pause before the professor realized he had to explain himself. “Apparently, I have to order some tests for my patient. The junior students are not here; someone thought they needed a break after their exams,” he scoffed.

James remained silent, his eyes focused on the keyboard.

“I mean, James, I should be able to tell the nurses what I want, and they do it. A patient’s life is in danger if they can’t, but all they want is documentation. Can you believe that?” Professor Samson exclaimed.

“No, I can’t,” James thought, seeing no point in disagreeing.

“Anyway, I am a reasonable man, James, and I humbled myself and sought this device. The system keeps asking me for a password. I have put in my full name, and Bam! Blocked, just like that, as if I do not know my own name. Such disrespect,” the professor continued.

“Professor,” James interjected.

“Tell me, why should we not ban these machines in hospitals, James? They have invaded it, now they are taking people’s identity, and nobody cares that this country is going down the drain,” Professor Samson ranted.

“Professor, you…” James pointed at the keyboard.

“James, I have to write a formal complaint to the Federal Minister of Health. My petitions always go through; you have seen the recent one on television, haven’t you, James?” the professor asked.

“Yes, but professor,” James tried to speak.

“James, we need to take back our country, a revolution,” the professor declared, clenching his fist and staring into the air, nodding his head frantically. “We need to gather the ones who are ready to take…”

“Professor Samson Macintosh!” James had to yell out.

“James Petros, why are you interrupting my thoughts?” the professor asked.

“The CAPS lock was on!” James exclaimed.