Whippersnapper vs. elder: An epic showdown.

I’m just now getting on a plane. As I said to my group after receiving my “graduation certificate”, this multimedia training has been one of the best experiences of my very short career thus far, and I feel like instead of it coming to an end, it’s really just beginning.

When I look back on the week, it has been exceedingly great. The people were supremely interesting and kind, the material was invigorating and attainable, and the venue was gorgeous. I’m so happy with the way it went.

Something happened though. And her name is Martha. Martha Lenn. Yeah. She happened in a big way. The organization apparently thinks it prudent to place each person with a partner on the first day, based on who is sitting next to you, then force you to essentially form a marriage with that person for the whole rest of the week, regardless of how well you work together, what the skill levels are, and how absolutely insane the match is.

Insane doesn’t begin to do it justice. Picture this if you can. 23-year-old whippersnapper is tech savvy, energetic, and excited about using multimedia to help repair a deflating industry. 120-year-old confoundingly ends up in this seminar, regardless of the fact that she loathes technology, the Internet, and most of all, young adults. Whippersnapper digests tech basics and new techniques at the speed of light. Geriatric still cannot discern between on/off functions after a full week of intense, hands-on instruction.

Thing is, of course we all have to work with people we don’t get along with. Sometimes we have to work with people we downright hate. But this was unlike any situation anyone in a workplace has ever faced, I can pretty much guarantee that. Martha lacked the capability to retain even the slightest semblance of technical information. The record button anecdote I shared with you was a perfect example of this. When operating the video camera, you move the dial to “camera”, which I would do for her because she couldn’t possibly maneuver the complicated hold-and-slide procedure, then all you had to do to record film was to hit one red button labeled “record”. This is the button closest to your thumb. Many times, her thumb would in fact be on the button, double-punching it and thus turning it on and off throughout the interview.

All right. So we’ve got an old lady who sucks at technology. Boo hoo, right? Wrong. Hear me out. A technologically-challenged elderly woman I can handle. But Martha. Is. Insane. Certifiably. Her bio said she was a veteran journalist of 25 years, yet she completely lacks any sense of news judgment, and gets extremely offended at the slightest gentle suggestion that maybe her ideas are not the best.

Example: We had to storyboard an anniversary piece about a boy who was paralyzed from a fallen speaker at a local shopping center. I suggested that for this hypothetical story, we should hypothetically include an interview from the boy’s parents. She said that was fine, but only if we single out one of the parents to talk to instead of them both. Why would we do that? I asked. Because it would be more moving, and better that way, she said. Then, we had to come up with one word that signifies the heart of this anniversary story. I suggested “unfortunate” or “unsafe”. She said those words aren’t bloody enough and that our word needs to be more dangerous. I gently suggested that tactic might be a little sensational. Then she suggested the word “mis-take”. Why the dash? I asked. Because it singles out ‘mis’, like he nearly missed his life, she said. I sighed.

Naturally, I talked to our seminar head about this. While he was sympathetic, he thought it was in my best interest to stick it out with Martha because “everyone has to deal with difficult people in newsrooms”. His solution to my conundrum was to have an impromptu session on the importance of teamwork. So this was an unscheduled, last-minute addition to our curriculum…all because of me. Our presenter asked us to face our partners and each ask the other what we can do to help him/her. Just one question – two minutes each – and we had to record and edit it. I told Martha I needed to not have to spend every moment of this training re-teaching her basic fundamentals of equipment handling (like how to press record), and which I honestly did 100 percent patiently at least twenty to thirty times. I told her if she is far behind, one of the instructors should specially work with her because I can’t afford the time or resources of this seminar teaching her.

When I asked her what she needed, she told me I’m just like all of her students who are rude, demanding, and self-centered. Then, she told me I look exactly like her daughter, and started crying! She said I need to learn to treat people like human beings, not computers. She said she has valuable aspects to bring to the table and that her type of journalism is being ruined by my generation. Then she said she can’t learn about equipment without reading the product manuals front to back. I suggested maybe she should read some of them at night in the hotel. She didn’t.

A day passes. We are in a session in which our seminar head read us the story of his adaptation and acceptance of technology into his work after years of print-only experience. Many older people in the group identify with him. It sparks a thoughtful conversation among the group and the instructors. Still, though, people (as I’m sure you’re experiencing at this point) weren’t really understanding what I was going through. Yes, our seminar had a crotchety old lady attending, but what was the big deal? She’s mostly harmless and can’t be all that bad, right? I don’t blame you for thinking this. I just thank the baby Jesus that what I’m about to tell you about actually happened.

A hand goes up. Martha, an infrequent contributor to discussions, stands up out of her chair, takes a step away from the table, and starts yelling – YELLING – about the “young people’s internet” and how journalism is ruined now because of it and that all of us “young people” only care about bells and whistles and not the fundamentals of journalism and that “our” industry is ruining “her” industry. Then, her rant culminates in one glorious sentence. Yelling about the Internet, she screams, “IF I HAVE TO SEE ONE MORE NIPPLE….”

People. Freak. Out! Nipples? Porn? Journalism isn’t porn! The Internet is not full of nipples! What pages is she going to anyway? And how is the Internet attributed solely to “young people”? Our seminar head necessarily calls a break and everyone walks out of the room, shaking with anger at her ignorant and offensive statements. We stand around a table in the kitchen. I joke, “When I’m lying in bed at night…I’m thinking…how can I get more nipples on the Internet? I mean, as a young person who invented the Internet, I just wish there could be way more nipples, you know?”

We return. Back to the discussion, Martha says, “Young people have no sense of decency. You only care about yourselves, and you don’t understand good journalism. But don’t worry. We still love you. We cherish you. You’re wonderful. We will always love you.”

I calmly jotted down a few sentences, which I knew would be the closing statement to this conversation. As her partner, as the obvious target of this conversation, and as the youngest person in the room, I raise my hand and simply, calmly say, “I find that condescending. We are your colleagues. Now, ‘bells and whistles’ and good journalism are not mutually exclusive, and there are phenomenal examples of this in the Internet. And we are all here to learn how to meld the two together. That’s why we’re here.” Hand goes down. People around the table are furiously nodding their heads in agreement. Discussion is over.

How did I feel about her rant? I’ll tell you. GREAT. Because finally, after days of enduring her attitude and long-winded, completely nonsensical speeches, finally, everyone understood. The quiet elderly lady is not just any old quiet participant. She is crazy. She is wrong. She is Martha.

Epilogue: Immediately after her rant, we were all reassigned partners. After enduring Martha for four days, my last two were spent with a snappy, sassy, great partner. The person who was reassigned to Martha spent two nights in her hotel room sobbing out of frustration.