They don't make computer desks for people like me.

All of the mail order catalogs assume that every tract home in America has a clean, neat, locked room set aside for Dad and his Toy. In that room is an authentic wood grained, pressed board computer desk with neatly stacked reference books and a nice potted plant. Utter fantasy.

The home office I know is barricaded by stacks of old computer magazines, printouts, and is squished into the corner of a bedroom. The desk top has been thoughtfully decorated my wife in an arrangement consisting of anything discovered elsewhere that is suspected of belonging to me. At intervals, I shift this pile to the floor to make a new column for the barricade. But it doesn't work. People still get through. Little people.

My kids can't get enough of the computer. They know that when they invade the computer area, it will produce daddy and he will act silly. He will shout "No-No"! and they will collapse into giggles. "No-No" is a very big joke to the Breakfast with Barney crowd. It is almost as funny as poo-poo, but not quite.

I have found my smallest hitting big red button with the light on it that says "press me!". As he turns the power on and off his squeals of delight are punctuated by the beep of the bios and the grinding sound of the hard drive. My kid has a future in quality control at Compaq.

Those "hideaway" keyboard trays are not hidden to little people. The tray is at their eye level. They know what must be done. The keyboard must be slammed. A lot. Until the input buffer is filled and beeps reward each crash of the keys.

To my oldest, the printer is a quick, easy, and cheap source of instant paper. It also makes nice noises when turned on and off repeatedly. The little plastic paper guides on top are, of course, a bother and must be tossed on the floor immediately.

Only the monitor is left alone. It is not considered child abuse in America to beat any child stone silly who touches the big screen TV in the den. That imprinting carries over to computer screens. If everything in my home looked like a cathode ray tube, I'd have more unbroken stuff.

At this point, you are most likely straining to tell me about locks. What locks? Standard issue doors in suburbia come with locks that assume the user of the lock is staying inside the room. Any real estate agent can tell you that a bedroom door equipped with a dead bolt, chain, or both is a door that is going to have to be replaced if you hope to sell your home before the next millennia. Besides, the wife will most likely complain that the lock doesn't match the wallpaper.

Locks are a bust anyway. I'm not wasting any money on locks. Any room that is normally locked is a magnet for kids. They will beat on the locked door, call your name, and completely ruin your timing in DOOM. Should you be called away from the screen, they will dart inside and inflict twice as much damage than normal to make up for lost time.

Beating the child for touching the computer is completely out of the question. The ugly truth is that the children are acting as surrogates for their mother. She would love to do even worse things to the terminal. I know this because she tells me in graphic detail in moments when I am caught sneaking terminal time instead of scrubbing baseboards with a toothbrush.

I had originally thought that America needed a child-proof desk. Then I remembered child-proof medicine bottles. My kids open those for grandma when they're visiting at her house. What is needed is a desk for the urban guerrilla cybernaut. Here are my suggestions:

The keyboard doesn't pop up until you hold up your hand in a vulcan salute and say "Live Long and Prosper". Kids don't do L's or P's very well. It comes out "Iv dong and bosper". Considering the state of voice recognition devices, "Iv Dong and Bosper" will most likely open the garage door instead.

Most printer drawers are located at the bottom of the desk. This means you have to stand on your head to do anything with the printer. Groping around to change ribbons or try to reconnect the tractor drive is bad enough without having to do it while upside down. The place for the printer is on top of the hutch.

The monitor shelf should be adjustable and be large enough to hold an actual monitor and its pedestal. All the computer magazines tell you that the monitor should be located so many inches away from your nose.

Finally, a protective shell on the side of the cabinet should make the CPU look like the wide screen tv in the living room.

Someone needs to create this urban cybernaut desk, and fast. Take a look at the Orient. The father is treated like a Demi-God. Computers are treated as valuable family capital. Oriental children are so perfect that they arrive from the womb already potty trained. God only knows what computer godzilla will stride out of the Orient when the residents can jabber at their machines in their own language instead of typing pidgin english into a genuine imitation IBM clone.

If we can't produce the urban guerrilla cybernaut desk in such mass quantities that they are on sale at the neighborhood Wal-Mart for $99.99, then there is only one option left to us: Conscript the entire US male population into the Armed Services so they can go to Korea and acquire new wives and kids.

© Copyright 1997, Merrill Guice, All Rights Reserved