Technology makes life easier — yeah right

Merry Christmas and happy new year to one and all ... well, not really one and all, since at this moment I hate whoever invented technology. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate technology? No, I mean really, really hate it? Who was it, because I want to hunt them down -- Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, that Zuckerberg guy, Al Gore? Whatever, I hate them all.

Every day, in every way, we are told over and over how much better and easier this world is because of amazing technological advances (motto: We just fried your hard drive!). Why, you can download -- or upload, or unload, who cares -- music in 14 seconds, you can read e-mail while checking the local time in Tibet, you can even talk to four people on the phone at once. Wow. Here's the thing: I can push a radio button and hear music in two seconds, I couldn't care less what time it is in Tibet -- as far as I'm concerned, whatever time it is is a good time to get out of Tibet! -- and I don't even like talking to four people at once in person, let alone on the phone. So, what's in it for me?

"Well," came the bright and eager answer from a techno-zombie friend, "what about ordering Christmas presents?" That's how they suck you in.

I used to go shopping at actual stores -- remember those? -- where you search among the racks for the perfect sweater for your daughter to sneer at, and then wait in line to plunk down hard-earned money in front of a suspicious clerk who invariably, without exception, will need to get on the PA system to check the price, because there's no tag, even though you sincerely report the price that was posted on top of the sweaters, but hey, you could possibly be one of those exhausted, middle-age, frizzy-haired sweater scam artists running wildly through the malls, so we can't be too careful, ma'am. And, you know that ma'am thing at the end is just gratuitous (expletive) ... I mean unkindness, on her part.

Eventually, I became a big fan of catalog shopping at Christmas, and I still enjoy it. It's one of the few times I can, even now, get a real human being on the other end of the phone -- Ssshhh! Do not let a techno-god hear that, or he'll "improve" it! -- whom I can ask if sizes run small or large, if the color is more a sky or a royal blue, if it needs ironing, and if it makes your backside look like the Goodyear blimp. We laugh, we cry, we have a relationship. We hang up with promises to send Christmas cards.

Then came the horror stories: snatched credit cards, stolen identities, criminals with your home address, and bandits ordering vats of lobsters from Maine to be flown in velvet-lined ice chests to their parties in Seattle, all on your dime! I became wary of every clerk to whom I spoke, who asked for my address, as if she needed to know that!

So, I began ordering online. In my head, I saw a group of robots, rather than actual people -- one robot to process the order, one to charge the credit card, one to get the item off the shelf, one to wrap it up and one to put it on the conveyer belt. But, there were immediate flaws, the first being the computer itself, which senses when you're ordering something, and instantly sends order alerts throughout its circuitry, causing a series of unfortunate incidents, and often resulting in its being thrown off the nearest cliff.

The first of these is "Unable to Connect," which will last five to eight minutes (not long enough to give up, but just long enough to cause a slight rise in blood pressure and an annoying tic in the corner of your eye).

So, you try to order a sweater, and you receive various messages such as, "Comes in three colors," but only one color will come up in the order box, and it is baby-poop green, which, let's face it, only "works" on a teeny baby behind. There's also, "Please indicate size," but either the button won't allow you to click on it, or it only comes in size 48, which no one but Santa could wear.

Then, there's the billing and/or mailing address dilemma, which they will never get right, anyway, and then your credit card number (which, of course, they always manage to get right). Then you hit "Finalize Order" and a red message comes up that says not only did you not hit the "Accept Terms and Conditions" button, but you now have to start the entire order again, so "Welcome to L.L.Bean Online!"

I hate technology. ... Do you think any of the L.L.Bean robots eat lobster?

Vicki Wentz's column, which appears here on Sundays, is published in newspapers across the country. She is a high school teacher who lives in Chapel Hill, N.C. Readers may contact her at vwentz@mindspring.com.