Computers make our lives simpler and more fun… HAH!

Been spending some more time with Mom these days, and helping her when I can in the process of getting around in Cyberville.

We got her a simple dialup connection to a local ISP(1) so she can do email and at least crawl the Web(1).

We're into tax season, and I'm at her place while she's trying to download her annual upgrade from Intuit® TurboTax.  (She's been going the tax-software route for several years now, and is way ahead of me there; I prefer to send my data and a check to an accountant, not dealing with tax info myself, to avoid the blood-pressure spike.)

The screen comes up with a request for a Member ID.  "So what is that," she asks.

"Usually, it's your name or sometimes an email address," I offer.  But neither of those work.

So we go to the Frequently Asked Question (FAQ) page, and click on "Silly User Forgets Member ID/Password" link.  Up comes a prompt to enter her email address for a clue.  Makes sense.  We enter her email address and get "Nope, that ain't it."  Damn.

Now, I have to let go of being Mom's little helper, because I'm actually over here to do some home improvement work, and I know how easy it is to get sucked into a half day of computer cussing and mouse-clicking.

"Mom, go ahead and handle it, build yourself some character."  I duck the shoe, but stay within earshot.

She's calling someone on the telephone, tracking down Oz behind the software curtain.

Naturally, the 800 number switches Mama to Intuit's Bangladesh Bullpen, some girl named "Jane"… Krishnaswamy, sweet girl no doubt, but apparently not yet down with American Lingo 101.  Mom is gritting her teeth, "I didn't understand that, could you repeat what you just said?  Could you please speak up?"  We surmise Jane wants Mom's credit card number.

On the other end, Jane doesn't question Mom's diction, she simply writes down what sounds right.  Mom repeats the number, then the expiration date, "THAT'S OCTOBER—Month #10, TWO-ZERO-ZERO-SIX."  That number is not coming up good with Visa.  It's definitely a good card (Mom's idea of burying the credit card is leaving it down deep in her purse).

"Look," she almost barks at Jane, "Forget it, I'll buy it down the street."

Then the kicker:  Intuit Offshore asks if Mom will please stay on the phone and complete a customer service survey!  Mom, you can imagine, decides to pass on this opportunity to share her wonderful experience.  "Look, nothing personal, but all I can come up with right now is a string of obscenities.  Wouldn't be fair.  Good bye!"  [Please people!  Do fill out these customer surveys.  Only when enough people tell them they aren't buying their product because their tech support sucks will they bother to provide useful tech support.  Besides which, venting your frustration will lower your own blood pressure.  —Ed.]

Not being familiar with the PC tax software racket, I'm thinking that Mom driving down to CompUSA for an entirely new TurboTax package, she's going to have to pay more.  Which is why it's got to be better to download.  Right?

"Mom, don't you just buy the software and get free annual download updates ever after?"

"Yeah, and right after you were born the doctor bounced you on your head."

Well excuse me for being such a rube.  But if you have to pay $30-$50 every year for the package…  Let's just say I think it's not costing Intuit anywhere close to $30 ea. to upgrade its code every year.  It seems they could do a lot better for the customer.  So, my power-user friends, tell me, is that a ripoff or not?  Please forum up.

###

My own professional and personal computer life is somewhere between literate (occasionally naïve) user and rabid power-user geek.  Meaning, some of my best friends are pure geeks, who occasionally tolerate my ignorant questions and give me honest information—in words I can digest—about their esoteric world.

On the other side are most of the other people I know, like my mom, my wife, my golf buddies, my true-engineer friends, haircutter, masseuse, manicurist, chiropractor, YMCA fitness-center attendant, and so on.  These people, most of them, use computers and have access to the Internet, but their connection is sporadic or minimal.

Speaking of power users, though, a friend of mine, Darryl, who works for Apple and used to work for Cisco—big networking router giant—confided to me once about the world of personal computers, "Truman, these are highly complicated and difficult systems, getting moreso all the time; I myself struggle constantly getting software/hardware loaded/functioning."

Darryl's a ham radio fan, has an elaborate setup in his home in the Bay Area of San Francisco where he can talk to "Shipwrecked in Borneo" or "Cliff Dwelling in Peru" at all hours.  I.e., a world-class techie wienie.  So when he tells me PCs and their multifaceted software are complicated gizmos, I believe him.

You can take it to the bank.

And "to the bank" is exactly where a lot of the complicated-gizmo manufacturers hoof it every day with oodles of your hard-earned moola.  Microsoft being the perfect example.  Big Geek, as it's known unaffectionately, has mastered the modern economics of popular inertia.  Meaning, it doesn't matter that a better mousetrap is available, we're buying the same fragile, bloated, corruptible megasystem everyone else is buying, dammit.

Where do you think Karl Rove got his marketing ideas for Dipwad Junior?

Contributing to the malaise of wretched complexity is the fact PCs have become more and more powerful.  You can run an average-sized business on the same PCs John and Jane Doe bring home from Best Buy.  These units and the accompanying software—by conscious intent—have all the bells and whistles any random expert du jour might conceivably want to diddle with.

So when Mom or one of my friends takes home a Windows XP® operating system-equipped super wombat thunderpig PC, for a grand or two, and fires it up, they're not prepared for all the special features that bombard them incessantly "for their own good."

Mostly what they ask me is "How the hell do I turn off that obnoxious pop up or message box or rap song or 'You look like you're trying to write a letter, are you?' or desktop shortcut to the blue screen of death?!"

"It makes them so angry!!"

We just want to write a letter, look at a picture, move files around, surf the Web, layout a project, present a business case, compose a graphic, manage our money, track our ancestors, and so on.  And to be fair, none of these is a trivial electronic task.  But they're inherently simple.

Underneath all the hyped-up crap piled on top of the software is usually someone's brilliant design struggling to break free, which a concerted effort from ordinary mortals can bring out.  But it's a big chore for everyone.

Fundamentally, the challenge of the future is for the Small Innovative Geeks of the world to design their systems with the same simplicity that makes, say, pencil and paper a pinnacle of human achievement.  Then the masses have to find some cojones and not be afraid to strike out as creative beings of their own, and leave the bloated-system shepherds behind.

I can't wait.

Until then, put the words "customer service" up in lights.

A short story ending with some parting advice to my fellow complicated-systems users:

About three years ago, I decided to contract for a monthly web hosting service—'Homestead—primarily to put up a personal website with some genealogy information.  I was trying to do something totally mundane like import a file from my PC.  I doth goeth ballistic because the onscreen software did not describe how to do something so f**king routine.

What do we do when we have such a problem… even guys, eventually?

Well, we try to find someone to talk to, someone who is being paid to help us figure it out.  Customer Service.  But after prowling around the Homestead site for it seemed like hours, I couldn't find a telephone number or even an email address that would take a question.  I was fuming.  What kind of a**hole company puts out a product without giving you a number to call with people to talk to when you have a problem?  (Well, oh yeah, Microsoft.)

Didn't these dingdongs at Homestead cash my check?

I pulled the plug on Homestead immediately.  Maybe enough people have had similar problems that Homestead finally has live support.  Who knows?  My policy from that point forward is as follows:

Never buy a software or system, a product or service, where you don't get live (24/7-ish) communicative—meaning person speaks in good English with adequate context and training to understand who you are and what your problems tend to be—help.  Never!

I recommend it for everyone.  Some firms like Sony and Sharp, my local Time Warner cable company, are exemplary in this area.  So I know 21^st-century companies with great human support are out there.  As customers, we'll get the service we demand only if we demand it.  That's how humans best handle big systems and small… try with a little help from their friends.