Who you calling tech-savvy?

I don’t like to brag, but if an independent pollster should ask the staff of Courthouse News a simple question: “Who among you is the last person you would describe as ‘tech savvy?’” I can pretty much guarantee that the answer would be, “Why, that’s Bob.”

Proof came again this week when I braved the smoke-choked air of Denver to buy a new keyboard for my computer. The old one had become — how can I say this? — filthy.

How many years I’d used Old Bess I could not say, but I’d written several books on it, in addition to the daily grind at Courthouse News. The Shift and Ctrl keys had been sticking for quite some time. Also, occasionally, Z, X, C, A, S, Q, W and D. And others. It was time for Old Bess to go to Recycle Heaven.

Alert readers, if I have any left, will note these occupy the lower left-hand corner of the keyboard. Where I keep my coffee and breakfast. And, apparently, quite a bit of dog fur.

Now, under the crusty shell I donned decades ago to assume the guise of a hardheaded newsman, I’m just an old softie. I become attached to things: shells, trinkets, old shirts … my keyboard. “I’m going to save my old friend,” I thought. And so the cleaning began.

With the blade of my Swiss Army Knife, I pried out the Z, to discover underneath … (do not let the children see this) … that the hairy, glutinous mass extended due west to the Shift key, due east to X, nor’ by nor’east to S, nor’ by nor’west to A, and beyond.

I began cleaning, with toothpicks, Q-Tips and water, then reuniting the putatively cleaned keys and substrate and trying them out.

It did not go well.

Do you know how many keys there are on a standard wireless keyboard? I don’t either. I should know, because I counted them over and over, but kept coming up with a different answer. Then I knew that Old Bess and I had to tread different trails. So long, old friend.

Old Bess in tow, I drove to an office-supply chain store, looking for a Logitech keyboard “like this one.” There’s a computer store right close by, but I figured the chain store would be cheaper.

Wrong again. The chain store (let’s call it Ponderous Office Supply) had six Logitech keyboard models, at prices from $49.99 to $129.99. For a keyboard! I asked their salesmen (they were all men) what the difference was between the models, and they told me forthrightly that apart from the price, they didn’t know.

“They have different features,” one salesman said. And the one I wanted was out of stock.

So I trotted over to the real computer store, showed them Old Bess, and they sold me a comparable companion, still in the box, for $23.

“My speakers are dying,” I told the salesman, who seemed to know what he was doing. “What do you suggest?” He sold me a pair of refurbished, spic-and-span HP speakers for $8.

Back home I installed my new friends and … nothing. Nada. Not a blip. So I called the computer store and explained the situation.

They asked — and this will prove my thesis: “Did you take the batteries out of the plastic?”

The prosecution rests. There is no defense.

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