Mentally speaking, my mom lives in a world apart from the one where we are physically present. Technical things are a mystery to her. Take, for instance, that most common and omnipresent of objects in the Western household, the remote control. After several years of owning a particular TV, my mom’s remote control began having issues. Based on previous stories, one might be tempted to think a hot caffeinated beverage might be involved. Not this time, at least.
Eventually, the remote control gave up the ghost and stopped working altogether.
I was at her place the day she had bought a new universal remote from Radio Shack. She opened it up and asked me to set it up for her. I read the instructions and then asked her for batteries.
“Batteries? Why would you need batteries?”
“Because that’s how they work, mom. The batteries supply the power to send the signal… Mom? Did you try replacing the batteries in the old remote before you got this one?”
“That one doesn’t take batteries.”
“No, mom, I’m positive it does. How else would it work?”
“I thought they worked by magic.”
(Arthur C. Clarke had not yet died when this happened. His adage was proven right within his own lifetime.)
“Batteries, why would you need batteries?”
This could have been an excerpt from the “Fast and Furious” where ATF agents thought you could attach a tracking device to guns sold to drug lords and not have to worry about changing the battery ever. And then they got Radio Shack (i.e. 10 minute batteries) to boot.