From Sherwood to Shhh: Tech Fails at Our Final Book Club with Amy S. Kaufman

Last night, I hosted what will probably be the last hurrah of our local book club. Attendance has been shrinking faster than my patience for Facebook arguments, and even with a special guest Amy S. Kaufman, author of The Traitor of Sherwood Forest, only my two besties, Laura and Nidhi, showed up. Chris was there too, along with the house ponies, who were actively trying to sit on humans as if that’s part of the reading experience. Heinz, my introvert dog soulmate, was behind the couch pretending none of us existed. I respect his choices.

I had this brilliant idea to AirPlay the Zoom meeting to our living room TV, thinking we could all see and hear Amy more clearly. The visual part worked. Amy’s face was up on the screen looking authorly and composed. The sound, however, stayed trapped inside my laptop like it was being held hostage. Even with the volume cranked to its max, I could barely hear her. So naturally, I leaned in closer. Then closer still. Until I was basically draped across my keyboard with one ear smashed against the keys like a raccoon trying to absorb plot through echolocation.

I don’t know what kind of view Amy had from her end, but it was probably just a giant brownish blur with a streak of grey slowly creeping into frame. She was out here trying to discuss character arcs and betrayal, and I was accidentally treating her to a full screen view of my scalp. Not exactly the professional setup she likely envisioned.

In a thrilling twist, I figured out the audio settings with exactly two minutes left in the meeting. Turns out, Zoom has a little setting that lets you switch the sound to the TV. Revolutionary. Cutting-edge. Hidden in plain sight. I felt like a genius who had arrived just in time to say goodbye.

Chris, ever the supportive partner, handed me a Diet Coke and said nothing. Just sipped his own and stared ahead like a man who has accepted his fate.

I think it’s time my son moves back in. Not permanently. Just long enough to serve as live-in tech support and gently guide me through audio menus without rolling his eyes into another dimension.

As for the book club, I’ll miss it. It may have dwindled, but it was full of heart, laughter, and people who didn’t mind that I briefly turned our guest author meeting into an interpretive dance of confusion and butt angles. May it live on in group chats and good intentions.

And Amy, if you are somehow still willing to speak to me, I promise next time the only thing in the frame will be my face. Maybe.