October 1995 (continued): Having the afternoon free, I walked up and down the main street of Hamilton, New Zealand, for a couple of hours, seeing much of the town. Seemed like a nice, relatively small town.
Steven Joyce, who had arranged for me to conduct the next day’s seminar, picked me up for dinner. Actually, Steven had a lot to do with my coming to New Zealand in the first place. The previous year, he had recommended me as a keynote speaker at the Radio Broadcasters Association’s national convention. That was my first invitation to visit NZ…and unfortunately for me in 1994 the R.B.A. convention was held at the same time as the NAB convention in the U.S., where I already had been scheduled as a speaker.
The following day typified my focus (and true enjoyment) of these trips: a full day playing tapes, telling stories, and “talking radio” with a roomful of disc jockeys who had gathered from The Radio Works’ various stations across the country.
At its conclusion, Leon drove me to the airport…stopping first (at my request) at a Burger King so I could “bulk up” before my flight. (I don’t like to fly on an empty stomach, and I wasn’t sure if there would be a meal on the plane.)
She tried to pick me up at the Burger King in Hamilton, NZ.
This was the scene of one of my favorite memories of the trip: The 15-year old girl who took my order complimented me on my “cute American accent.” This was the only time in my life that a teenage girl flirted with me, and I was most appreciative.
Driving into Wellington — Not Really, But I'm Pretty Sure It's Wellington
From Hamilton I flew to Wellington, where the R.B.A. convention was being held. The taxi ride from the airport into Wellington revealed a very beautiful harbor city. Just gorgeous, driving the winding road around the bay toward the night lights of the town.
That was Thursday night, and although I was not scheduled to speak until Saturday, I had been invited to be introduced to the attendees on Friday afternoon. So I had most of Friday to myself.
Shortly before this trip, I had joined CompuServe. This was to be the very first time I would try to “log on” to CompuServe from a “remote location” (i.e., away from my office). And I spent most of the night and all of Friday morning trying to do just that…to no avail.
(It might shock our younger readers to learn there was a time, when dinosaurs and personality jocks roamed the earth, when people connected to the Internet via something called a “telephone.)
That meant I had to connect my Macintosh Powerbook to the telephone in my hotel room, use the phone to call a local connecting number for CompuServe, and — hopefully — wait while my computer talked to theirs.)
It did not work. No matter what I did.
The nearest CompuServe customer service office was in Australia.
In desperation, I looked in the Wellington telephone book and found a listing for a local CompuServe office. I called up and explained my problem. The person I spoke to was very sympathetic and offered a couple of suggestions.
I tried his suggestions. They did not work.
When I called back, it was suggested that I bring my computer over to their office. Fortunately, the office was just a few blocks from my hotel.
I entered the elevator in the office building. Another passenger pushed the button for his floor and then asked me, “Third floor?”
“No, I’m going to the fourth floor,” I replied.
“Oh,” he said, surprised.
“Why did you think I would be going to the third floor?”
“Well, that’s where the Alcohol Advisory Council is, so I just figured that’s where you were going.”
(Let the record show that I don’t even drink.)
At last I arrived at my destination, where the entire New Zealand CompuServe office was waiting for me. His name was Ricky Berg, a transplanted American. Ricky was very patient and very generous with his time. Finally we were sure we had solved the problem, so I returned to my hotel to give it a try.
It still wouldn’t work.
Ricky suggested a couple of other methods; they didn’t work.
At last, a radio guy came to the rescue: Ron Wilkinson suggested that perhaps the cord connecting the hotel telephone was improperly wired for use with a modem. I walked a couple of blocks to a Dick Smith Electronics store — the New Zealand equivalent of Radio Shack (but apparently with more knowledgeable employees) and bought a new telephone cord. I knew this was a ridiculous waste of time, but I had no other ideas.
I walked back to the hotel, plugged in the $7 cord….and finally managed to “log on” from a country other than my own.
Exhilarated with this triumph over hotel telephone technology, I took myself on a walking tour of Wellington.
Little did I know this was to be the first of many frustrating attempts to “go online” from hotels all over the world….
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I went through something almost identical to this once (minus the cute teenage girl coming on to me).
After three hours of pure frustration and “phone-ear” from being on the phone so long with Tech. Support, I finally decided to try an idea of my own;
I replaced the female-to-female phone-line coupler (which was totally brand new and had come with the laptop computer) with another one that I knew worked and viola!
In computerland, it’s so easy to presume that the problem is always software related (because it usually is), and the LAST thing you’d expect is a brand new piece of cheap, easy to make hardware (probably made en-mass in some factory where they’ve made millions before, without incident) to actually be wired incorrectly.
But like anything with computers;
Learn to expect, the unexpected. 😉
That had to suck! 8-D