by Debbie Farmer
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Every once in a while I wander from my safe little world of what I understand and wander into a world I still don’t: Internet shopping. You’d think by 2008, I’d have figured it out, but, no. I’m still reeling from the decision to rid the world of rotary dial phones and manual typewriters.
So I had a friend’s son’s birthday gift to buy, for a party coming up, and I was busy, what with work, the kids, trying to figure out what to microwave for dinner, and so I did what I occasionally do. I pulled out my credit card and walked over to my computer and went shopping.
Now, I know that there are some immediate advantages, like the fact that I didn’t have to drive to a mall, or search for a parking space, or wait in a long line, and plus, I love the fact that you can go shopping in red flannel pajamas and fuzzy penguin slippers without fear of being escorted to the nearest locked medical facility by a group of men in white coats. On top of all that, you can be having a really, really bad hair day and no one on the entire planet will ever know.
But Internet shopping has one, big disadvantage I never really consider until I’ve invested too much time to turn back: I’m still completely, computer illiterate. Well, OK, not completely. I know just enough about the Internet to be dangerous. Let’s just say I am the sort of person who will push buttons and make all sorts of weird lights flash onto the screen, and then try to fix it by hitting the top of the monitor with my shoe.
So I did what any wise, woman of the 21st century would do: I asked my teenage son for help.
And for 45 minutes he sat next to me and patiently explained, for maybe the tenth time in the last several years, all about virtual shopping carts and Internet credit cards and all that, while I snapped, “I don’t want to know how it all works! Just hurry up and show me how to buy a silver pen and pencil set, will you?”
He finally ended up writing me out a list of detailed instructions, which I couldn’t understand, whatsoever. So I resorted to my second plan: pressing buttons willy-nilly until I accidentally found a site that sold stuff. Once there I clicked on anything that fell into the category of things-I-could-pass-off-as-gifts.
But don’t let this fool you. Shopping on the net isn’t as easy as you’d think. No, once you’re actually succeeding, and everything seems to be working out all right, and you start doing an actual shopping spree, for your friend’s son and for yourself and everyone else you know, there are certain questions that are bound to come up that have never once occurred to you before. Like:
Just where, exactly, do I swipe my ATM card?
Is that photo of the pirate made of a cheese ball the actual size?
What if my order gets stuck in the wires that run underneath the carpet?
I’m hungry. Is there a food court in here somewhere?
How big is a virtual shopping cart? If I buy too much, should I get a second one?
I’m pressing the enter button, but I don’t hear any noise. Why is that?
What if I accidentally send my credit card number to the entire world?
Will the government know that I’m buying Victoria Secret lingerie for my sister?
How come my virtual clothing model has better hair than me?
Now, friends, I’d gladly share the answers with you, expect for one thing: I still have no idea what they are. All I know is when I was finished, I turned off the computer and stared vacantly into the screen.
“What’s wrong?” my kids asked.
“I think I just spent your college tuition. Plus, it’s just that I don’t really feel like I’ve, well, shopped.”
“What do you mean?”
“There isn’t the thrill of sneaking bags upstairs or trying on new clothes or anything like that,” I said. “Where’s the excitement? The adventure?”
They gave me a compassionate look, but deep down I knew that they didn’t really understand.
And, of course, a few days later my purchases arrived on my doorstep: a three-inch high pirate cheese ball, 23 pen and pencil sets, and a chenille nightgown that would fit tightly on, say, a tree lizard.
I have to confess that, for now, I’m going back to shopping in person. Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not like shopping on the Internet isn’t a wonderful technological invention or anything like that. There are loads of people who swear by it.
But, me, I’ll opt for the adventure. They don’t call it “retail therapy” for nothing, you know.