Little Red Writinghood

An allegory for technophobes

very old woman wearing a red hood

Once upon a time, there was an old woman named Little Red Writinghood. She was called this because she was scrawny and bent over with age, and she loved to write. She also wore a bright red cape with a fur-rimmed hood, even in summer. She was hard to miss.

One day, while browsing the internet, she found an ad for an app—an appad if you will, most useful since they are so plentiful—that promised her a sureproof way to get her poems published. Well, that should have alerted her right then, but, ever hopeful, she clicked the link. It took her to a page that told her to click on a link and it would give her an app and a QR code to prove who she really was. But first she had to

a) give them her name, her email address, her address, her phone number, and her husband’s name and number (pointless, she thought, since he was deceased and his phone was buried with him.)

Looking on the bright side, however, she thought that if something answered when they called that number, they would have a perfect chance to ask the something on the other end of the line **the question.**

You see how her mind fired off inconsequential and extra-random thoughts? This trait also applied to her use of appads.

b) They also wanted the last four of her bank account number. She may have misread that slightly as ‘the last four with her bank account,’ because she thought, well, really, how should she be expected to know that? There were any number of possible people who could have had her account number before she obtained it. Hmmph. She left it blank.

So after she had filled out a lengthy resume about her writing accomplishments, she hit NEXT. The screen returned with a warning that she really did need to submit the last four or she would have to undergo trial by Fortesque Nobily. This, they warned, was an internet app so difficult it befuddled even the smartest internet jockies, and that inability was why she was on this page!!! Getting Fortesque involved using her phone to click on another web address, to download another app, the dreaded Fortesque Nobily app. This of course had to be done on her phone. Then the Fortescue app gave her a funny box filled with many lines (the QR code), also on her phone. They then told her to use the Fortesque Nobily app to take a photo of the mysterious QR code, which also had to be done on her phone. no doubt while dancing the flamenco with her phone, the app, and the code between her teeth. She was a fairy tale creature but even she could not use her phone to take a picture of some QR code on her phone!

It was diabolical! She saw why the Montescue app had such a dreaded reputation!

When she failed to comply, the app told her that a man named Gregor Wolfe was going to come to her house to meet her and check on her identity. Apparently, they had a backup plan for dealing with little red-writing goofs like her.

She was ready for the meeting with Mr. Wolfe when he knocked on her door. She had her ID cards out on the table and her axe on her shoulder. You never could tell what kind of Wolfe might be knocking, especially if they worked for internet-based companies. Right now she was especially angry with Apple. Her last shipment was rotten and would not shut up….or was it down? Anyway, they would not stop talking in their little squeaky voices.

Rap rap rap. Someone at her door!

“Yes?” she said. And waited.

Another voice replied, “Ms. Red Writinghood?”

“Yes,” she said again. She wasn’t going to give this person anything for free.

“May I come in?”

“That depends on the hair on your chinny chin chin. Do you have any?”

“No.”

“Are you carrying any poisonous Apples?”

“No.”

She picked up the axe, slung it over her shoulder, and opened the door.

A rather large bald man stood there in a suit the color of mud. When she looked closer, it was a blue suit covered in mud.

“What happened to you?”

“My last client had a temper.”

”Oh. Was he big and green?”

“Yes. But not at first. He looked normal until I asked him if he went by any other name.”

“Well, come in. I will pour you some tea. On second thought, how about some bourbon?”

“I don’t normally drink on duty, but just this once. Thank you.”

After giving him the bourbon, she sat down and put down the axe beside her. It had been tricky pouring the bourbon with one hand. But she thought she could relax. He did have no hair. “So are you here representing Montescue?”

“No, I am not, though I think you mean Fortesque. I am here representing my brother Igor. Together we are working to bring all fairy tale characters into this century. No more cottages in the woods. No more wicked stepmothers. I see you have already upgraded to a nice apartment. Congratulations. Are you ready to take the next step?”

Hmm, she thought. Looking more closely, she saw that he had recently shaved his entire head, including his face. He was not bald, he was quite hairy. “What’s the next step?” She picked up her axe.

“We want to offer you a credit card. It will allow you to spend money you haven’t got yet, and pay it back over time.”

“At what interest rate?”

“Prime plus 15%”

“What do you think you are doing?” She stood. “You are a pair of rapacious Wolves living off of naive fairy tale and superhero characters. Looks like the Hulk had reason to get mad. I don’t like Wolves preying on my brethren. Now about this axe, Mr. Wolfe. I have killed many of your type before and their fur decorates my hood!”

He bolted for the door. The axe hit the back of the door as it slammed shut. She sat down, drank her bourbon, and then said to herself, “I had better call those piggies down the road. Talk about naive! Those wolves would probably sell them the straw or sticks to build their houses at prime plus 15%!”