Himself

64.

The skeptical warden, after a five minute phone conversation, tells me that a clean laptop and their hard-wired land-line is the best they can do. He validates his decision with the weak disclaimer, ‘under the circumstances.’  I consider pulling rank, but decide to test Vi’s computer acumen instead. If she can deliver the goods using the most basic of tech devices it would be like building a modern skyscraper with a hammer and saw. 

We are led out of the conference room, she in her matching bracelets, to a small office space down the hall. There, the facility IT guy is setting up the room for our use. The warden has directed one of the female guards to ‘supervise’ the session, which he has gregariously capped at thirty minutes. Vi sits at the desk and the guard uncuffs her, providing a gruff reminder that she is watching. I pull a plastic chair left and just behind her. The IT guy says he will be in the office next door should his expertise be required. The guard sits on another plastic chair facing the desk and Vi behind it. From this location she cannot see the computer screen. 

Vi opens the PC and looks at me. “What?” I ask.

“Windows 95.”

Even with my limited familiarity with advanced computing technologies, I know this is intentional. 

“Please get the IT guy.” I ask the guard.

He walks into the room like a freshman called into the principals office. 

“Is this the best we can do?” I spin the laptop around so he can see the log-on page of the classic, but archaic operating system.

“Just following orders sir.”

I inhale deeply and on the exhale ask him to please get the warden on the phone. We have a conversation, of which the three other people in the room can hear only one side. Having placed verbal emphasis on the key words of authority, authorization, terrorism, president and unemployment, another guard shows up at the door carrying a new Dell as if it was a formal tea setting on a silver tray. It appears that my side of the conversation has won the debate. Vi is grinning like Cheshire cat at the turn of events. She is the only one amused. 

The IT guy swaps out the lap-top and makes the elementary cable connection. He looks at us, nods his head and leaves. The guard returns to her seat and I to mine. Vi logs on, seemingly satisfied with the upgrade. 

I watch her key-stroke a series of moves, opening files, programs, apps and connections. I must admit that I am impressed as she pulls together all the media into one page and asks in what format I would like to have the fruit of her labor transferred. 

“No transfer, just let me see what you have,” I say not wanting to risk a transmission or even a hard-copy theft. She makes a few more moves then slides the computer left on the table so it is right in front of me. “You can page through by using the up arrow key.” Upon delivery of her operating procedure tip she pushes her chair back to observe both the presentation and its audience of one. 

Immediately I see more than enough to make the sale, to close the deal with TOM. She has the goods and has cleverly and with great skill arranged the texts, e-mail correspondence, photographs and signed contracts in an ascending (and I admit entertaining) theatrical manner, all leading to the climatic black and white photo. I am speechless.

“Jesus H.” Is all I am able to mutter.