(After doing a service for a thrift shop, I have the employee sign a hand-held device which then transmits the information to a wireless remote printer, which prints out the service ticket. The employee marvels at the technology.)

Employee: “That’s just amazing!”

Me: “Yes, it’s pretty sophisticated.”

Employee: “Like the phones everyone has now.”

Me: “I know. I should upgrade my phone, but I’m intimidated. They seem so complicated. The one I have now is old, but it does pretty much everything I need it to. I mean, I don’t need a phone that tells me the phases of the moon or what time it is in Tokyo.”

(We share a laugh over this and wait a bit while the ticket prints out. Just then, a customer approaches and interrupts us.)

Customer: “Excuse me, but does anyone know what time it is in Tokyo?”

(We laugh a bit more, and I say to the customer:)

Me: “All I know is that it’s five o’clock somewhere!”

(A woman comes into the library with her own laptop to use our Wi-Fi. As she’s signing in, she calls me over and points to a line in our user agreement.)

Woman: “What’s this mean?”

Me: “That’s just a notification that our Wi-Fi network is public and we can’t guarantee that it’s 100% secure.”

Woman: “Not secure? What’s that mean? They can steal my identity?!”

Me: “Any information sent over Wi-Fi is potentially vulnerable. So, if you send personal information or financial information, it could possibly be compromised.”

Woman: “That’s insane! Why don’t you have secure Wi-Fi? I’ve had my identity stolen twice, and this is unacceptable. I need to work online!”

Me: “To be clear, we’re no less secure than any standard Wi-Fi network in your house or another public place. We just need to let you know we can’t guarantee security.”

Woman: “That’s crazy! I’ve had my identity stolen twice. I need to be careful!”

Me: “I understand. If you absolutely need to send information online, why don’t you use one of our public terminals? Wired networks are a little more secure than wireless.”

Woman: “Are they secure, though? I had my identity stolen twice! I need them to be secure!”

Me: “They are about as secure as you are going to find. As I say, we can’t 100 % guarantee it, but it’s fairly unlikely anyone would be pulling your information from a wired library network.” 

Woman: “But I need to be careful! I don’t want my identity stolen again…”

(I finally manage to explain to her that if she absolutely needs to send personal information online, there is going to be some risk, but she can minimize it. She gets on a library terminal and works for a while. Then, I see her get up, fish a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, and begin to walk out — leaving her email account logged in and her purse, phone, and laptop on the table.) 

Me: “Ma’am! We don’t recommend that you leave your personal items—”

Woman: “Don’t be silly; this is a library! What’s going to happen?”

(In this moment of nationwide quarantine in Italy, my dad has discovered the joys of online ordering products and getting them delivered to your house. After a long slog to get him to figure out how to use his dusty old work email for the purpose, he has started to go online and order various things from [Supermarket Chain]. I go to do something else… until he calls me back again several minutes later.)

Dad: “[My Name], come over here. I need you to order something for me; can you do it?”

Me: “Yes, I can. What is it?”

(He hands me his tablet, and I see two things: he has gone on [Big Company]’s site, and there are several pictures of pasta packages on it.)

Me: “Uh, Dad? Why are you ordering pasta on [Big Company]? They can’t have run out of pasta on [Supermarket Chain], could they?”

Dad: *annoyed* “No, look at what I’m showing you.”

(I take a better look at the packages and notice that they are all of a specific pasta format, called “castellane”… and that the labels are Indonesian.)

Me: *perplexed* “You’re trying to order castellane from Indonesia?”

Dad: “Of course, I am; I can’t find them anywhere else! Now, order them. I’m sure you can figure something out.”

Me: “But Dad, it’s gonna cost you lots of money. Are you sure?”

Dad: “Look, I have the money. I can afford it. Now do it.”

(Despite finding it silly to order pasta from half a world away while in Italy, I decide to try and figure something out. After several rounds of Google Translate and some guesswork, I manage to get myself on the page for one that works for our purposes. He tells me how many packs he wants to get and I input the number.)

Me: “All right. Do you have an account or do you want me to use mine?”

Dad: “No, try to use mine. If you use yours, it’ll get delivered to your flat.”

Me: *sighing* “Okay, can you tell me the password?”

Dad: “The password? What password? Can’t I just use my email?”

Me: “No, you can’t.” *realizing* “Wait, so you didn’t actually make an account?”

Dad: *getting agitated* “Didn’t I already make one? Why does that matter?”

Me: *resigned* “Because you put your email in [Supermarket Chain]’s database and made an account with them, not with these guys.”

Dad: *screaming* “What the f***? Who designed this stupid bulls***? F*** you and f*** your incomprehensible online things, you handicapped swine!”

(And with that, he started pouting and complaining about not getting his precious castellane. My mother suggested I just pretend to order that pasta from Indonesia and actually do nothing, since it was just “one of his personal fads,” but sometimes I wish I could tie him to a chair and make him learn basic informatics.)

(It is the early days of the Internet. The Internet provider for which I work is fairly small and only provides dial-up service. Customers have the option of telnetting into a shell account to connect. We also provide Internet service for a couple of local Internet cafes.)

Me: “Welcome to [ISP]. May I help you?”

Cafe Owner: “Hi, this is [Cafe Owner] at [Internet Cafe]. I have a customer who has an account with you and needs help getting into their shell account.”

Me: “Sure, just put them on the line.”

Customer: “Hi, can you help me?”

Me: “No problem.”

(I walk her through the not-too-complicated steps of opening a telnet session and signing in. This takes quite a while, as the customer isn’t familiar with the process at all.)

Me: “And now you’ll enter your username.”

Customer: “I don’t know what that is.”

Me: “Uh. Okay, well, it’s often the first initial and last name.” 

Customer: “All right.”

Me: “And then the password.”

Customer: “It’s not working.”

Me: “Are you sure you entered the password correctly?”

Customer: “Yeah. Oh, I know what it is. My account is at [Rival ISP].”

Me: “Sure. Uh, I’m not familiar with their information, but try [Rival ISP] dot net for the host?” *total stab in the dark*

Customer: “Oh, that worked. Great! Thank you so much!”

Me: “No problem, I’m glad to help. In the future, though, you might want to consider calling [Rival ISP] when you need help? They’re your provider and will have all the information you need.”

Customer: “WHAT?!”

(The customer abruptly flipped out on me, yelling and cursing, even though I had been nothing but polite throughout the whole transaction, and so had she, up until then. I had to put my manager on the phone, and he told her that she should have called her ISP in the first place!)

I have started a new job and am receiving logins for various computer programs. One requires me to provide answers to security questions in case I forget my password.

I pick a question: “What is your favourite colour?” I type, “Blue.”

“Your answer must be at least five characters.” 

So, for a question you’re supposed to give an answer to that you’ll remember, answers including “Red,” “Pink,” or “Blue” are not allowed. Other questions were “Mother’s maiden name” and “Favourite cousin” — let’s hope your favourite isn’t Jane or Max!