Spotting the Problem

by Patsy Collins

It could be anything from a sticky key to a complete crash. "Get the boy to have a look at it," was the usual advice whenever anyone had a problem with their computer.

Simon loved his job in IT support, because he loved computers. He loved getting up to date music to download, he loved chatting to his internet buddies around the world on equal terms without having to show his ugly spotty face. Computers weren't just for the fun stuff though, they were a serious tool and he used them as such. He loved being able to look things up and get immediate answers. You could even use a computer to find out how to fix a computer! He loved the way they always did whatever was asked of them, no complaining and no offered opinions. Simon modelled himself on his beloved machines, whatever job he was asked to do. Simon was ambitious, he intended to become head of IT and replace his current boss when Harold retired in two years time. He'd have to work hard, and let nothing stand in his way if he hoped to do that.

Simon was pleased that whenever there was a computer query he was always the person who was asked for. He'd built up a reputation for himself, not just in problem solving, but also for his friendly approachable manner and good advice.

"Thanks, lad," he'd be told by the marketing manager after he'd retrieved some data the man had accidentally deleted. "Saved hours of work for the team that has, I really appreciate you working through lunch. You're boss ought to let you go home early for that. I'll have a word."

The marketing man might just as well have offered to have let Simon out early to play. Most of the company's staff obviously considered him to be a child. At least Harold didn't see him that way. He knew how hard Simon had worked, how much attention he'd paid to Harold's advice. Simon knew about computers from college, but he didn't know about people. Harold had taught him how to deal with them.

"You've got to know how to handle them lad. You can't treat them as though they're stupid, but you can't assume they've actually checked the thing is plugged in either."

He taught Simon how to question his clients in order to diagnose the problem. He taught him how to help them get the most from their computers and how to offer advice. In short, he was teaching Simon how to become his replacement. If Harold had been told about Simon working through lunch he'd have been pleased with his dedication and known the reason for it. It was just a shame that the others didn't see him in the same way.

The other staff often made comments about youngsters being brought up to understand technology and how if they couldn't set their TV recorders they'd get the six year old next door to do it. Every time Simon answered his mobile, there'd be knowing looks, 'kids these days can't cope without their mobiles' was the thought in their minds. They didn't notice that whilst most of the middle aged women in the office used their phones to gossip, Simon's calls were all work related. They didn't appreciate his skill, they considered it the natural ability of youth. They were quick to praise Harold though. Simon knew what the problem was. He looked like a schoolboy still because of his acne. School kids had acne, geeky spotty boys were good with computers. Clear skinned, Albert was an IT expert with the job and prestige to match. Pimply Simon was a bright kid who loved messing about with chips and wires.

The other staff didn't dislike him, they weren't unkind, they simply didn't recognise him as an adult. His acne was too blame, but that wasn't as simple to fix as a lose connection to a motherboard, or a line of corrupted code. To be fair many people did try to help him.

"You don't want to spend all your time cooped up indoors, young man," the lady who served his lunch in the canteen said. "Get out in the sunshine, it'll do you and your complexion good. I could make you up a nice picnic, with brown bread sandwiches and fruit."

"Thanks, but this is fine," Simon had replied as he picked up his tray laden with fish and chips, a can of coke and a chocolate cake for dessert.

As he ate, Simon wondered if she had a point. His computer would provide the answer. Once he'd eaten, he returned, early, to his office and typed a few keywords into Google. He soon learnt that exposure to sunshine as a cure for spots was a myth, with no evidence to support it. The same was true of his diet, less chocolate and more fruit would be a good idea, but they weren't likely to clear his skin. Whilst he read this information he remembered the teasing he'd got as a kid. Some people reckoned his skin was inflamed because it was dirty. In common with many boys he'd not been fond of soap and water, but he'd begun washing regularly, scrubbing at his blackheads, hoping to wash them away. It hadn't worked. Simon checked up on the relationship between hygiene and acne and learnt that he'd probably made things worse rather than better with his rigorous cleaning sessions. His mum had told him that nothing could be done about his spots, he'd just have to put up with it for a year or so until he grew out of it. Apparently, she'd been at least partly wrong too.

"Simon, when you're finished whatever you're working on, there's some literature here I'd like you to take a look at," Harold said.

Simon glanced guiltily at the clock, he hadn't realised that the lunch break was over and his boss was back in the office.

"Sorry, Harold. I hadn't noticed the time."

"There's no rush, it'll keep til you're ready."

"I'm ready now," Simon said deciding that honesty was best. "I wasn't actually working, just looking something up for myself and I ..."

"Must be something interesting then, let's see." Harold looked over Simon's shoulder. "Acne? Crikey son, I though you'd be chatting up girls or something to get you distracted from work."
"Girls don't seem to like puss and blackheads."

"No, maybe not. So have you found out how to cure it?"

"No, only how not too. The only good news I've found is that it's not catching and I don't have to worry about worrying about it."

"You've lost me, Simon."

"Stress doesn't make it worse."

"Ah, I see. Wouldn't you be better finding out what does, or a cure?" Harold asked.

Simon closed down the page he had been reading. "Good idea, but how?"

"Come on, what have I taught you about computers? You've got to approach things the right way. What site were you looking at?"

"One on urban myths."

"Well myths are no good are they? Would you try some old wives' tale to fix a flickering monitor?"

"No, of course not, I'd check in the manual, or get onto the manufacturers; their the experts who know..."

"So, who'd be the experts in the case of a medical problem?"

"A doctor. Well, I could go to my doctor, but it doesn't seem worth bothering him. I'm not ill, or even in pain, it's just a bit sore sometimes. Anyway, I did read that what my mum said about growing out of it was right. It will get better on its own eventually."

"Most kids do seem to grow out of it quickly, but that didn't happen to you. It obviously bothers you, do you want to put up with it for years?"

"No, so I'll ring the doctor shall I?"

"Perhaps, but let's not give up on our good friend the internet just yet." Harold leant over Simon and typed 'www.patient.co.uk' into the browser. "I used this site myself a while ago."

"Oh, what was wrong?"

"Something I don't want to talk about and I definitely didn't want some doctor looking at if I didn't need to. Turned out I did need to, but by the time I went I knew what to expect and that I could get help, so it wasn't quite as bad. Anyway, never you mind about me. Thing is this site has advice on every medical condition you can think of, and loads you've never heard of. Now think you can cope now?"

Simon very quickly found pages of information about acne. All the myths he'd discovered were listed, and he was pleased to see that Patient UK gave the same information about them as the site he already knew and trusted. He was even more pleased to find that there were lots of different cures to chose from. He decided he'd get some benzoyl peroxide from the chemist. He'd do as was suggested and start with the lowest strength once a day. It seemed easy enough, you just washed your face, waited twenty minutes or so and applied the lotion. He noted down the name and that he should ask for a water based rather than alcohol based preparation. If that didn't work there were other things to try, retinoids of various types to unblock the pores or antibiotics to clear the infection. There seemed to be lots of different things, mostly stuff to put on your skin, but tablets too. Except for the benzoyl peroxide they all needed prescriptions, so he didn't write down the names. If he needed one of them, then his doctor would advise him on the one that was best for him.

"How are you getting on?" Harold asked.

"Good, I think I've found something that will work, I'll buy it on the way home.

"The site helped then?"

"Oh yes. It's great, just like a trouble shooting package, no actually it's better. Look there's a diagram of normal skin and one of a blocked pore showing how the spot occurs. There's info on what to do, such as to wash normally, don't pick the spots and don't take anabolic steroids."

"I'd hope you wouldn't take them anyway."

"'Course not, they're illegal. There's other stuff I wouldn't do, like take the pill, wear heavy makeup, have heavy periods or wear tight bra straps. Glad I'm not a girl."

"Well I'm just glad you've got the answer and we can get on with some work. I take it we can?"

"Yes, of course. There's more information, even a poem but I can look at that when I get home. Now what did you want me to look at?"

They were interrupted by the phone, Harold answered.

"You'd better get down to accounts. Miss Jenkins has got what sounds like the blue screen of death. Patient UK can't help you there lad, this one is all down to you."