Month: April 2020

Today I taught my parents… (Part 2)

Last week on “Today I Taught My Parents,” we watched Linda teach her dad how to use a fast-food drive-thru.

This week on “Today I Taught My Parents,” Linda helps her mother navigate ordering food online through a restaurant’s website.

Linda’s mother looks nothing like this.

Every phone conversation with my mother over the past umpteen years has started like this: “I know you’re busy. Do you have a few minutes?”

I fall for this tactic every time. It’s a good thing that she’s cute. And that she’s my mother.

The other day she called to ask about working her way through ordering Chinese food online. They typically call their favorite Chinese restaurant on the phone to place an order, and then my dad drives there to pick it up. But, for some reason, the restaurant wasn’t answering their phone.

So, my mom, desperate for some General Tso’s chicken or pepper steak or maybe just fortune cookies, ventured online to place an order. This is where the phone call came in.

Mom: Hi, honey. I know you’re busy. Do you have a few minutes?
Me: Sure. [Apparently I enjoy lying to my own mother.] Whassup?
Mom: I’m trying to order food online from China House.
Me: Wait, speak up. I could have sworn you said you’re ordering food online.
Mom: I am. But it keeps asking me to create a profile.
Me: Are you missing a step or something? You shouldn’t need to create a profile. Just skip that part.
Mom: I can’t. It won’t let me go any further. When I finish and click Save, it just goes back to the profile page.
Me: This is happening on China House’s website?
Mom: No. I’m on a site called chinesemenu.com and…
Me: So you’re not on a site just for China House? Hang on a second…

My mom starts mumbling something else, but I’ve missed it because now I’m opening up a browser window and going to chinesemenu.com myself, just to be sure she’s not giving her credit card information to some Nigerian prince. Sure enough, it’s legit.

But she’s right about the profile page thing, which kinda freaks me out because I was 99% sure she was misunderstanding things or was on a page rerouting to the site of that Nigerian prince. Sure enough, creating a profile and saving it just takes me back to the same page I was just on.

Until I see something in the upper right corner of the screen.

Me: Mom? Are you still on the profile page?
Mom: [dripping with sarcasm] Where else would I be? I’ve been stuck on this friggin’ page for an hour now.
Me: Click on the words “chinesemenu.com” in the upper right corner of your screen.
Mom: What?
Me: Click… on… the… words…
Mom: I heard ya. I heard ya. I’m not deaf. I’m just old. And cranky.

She’s not wrong. On all counts.

Mom: That worked. Thanks!

Click.

I go back to my work. A few minutes later, the phone rings.

Mom: Hi, honey. I know you’re busy. Do you have a few more minutes?
Me: Sure. Why not? What happened now?
Mom: Well, I got through the entire order, but…
Me: [trying to sound helpful and not embittered and ready for therapy] Yes?
Mom: I got to the end where…
Me: Wait, what? the end of what?
Mom: The order! I got to the end and…
Me: Sorry. I’m on the site again, trying to walk through a fake order just to see what you’re seeing.
Mom: What? Why would you do something like that? Are you having Chinese food too?

I wisely decide not to explain this to her. After all, I may have initially said I’m not busy, but I’m not THAT not-busy.

At this point, I find China House on my screen again and walk my way through their menu, fake-ordering lo mein and moo shoo pork and making myself really hungry for Chinese food. Everything is fine till I get to the end.

Me: Mom, how did you input your credit card information?
Mom: What?
Me: Your credit card information. Where did you input that? I don’t see any options to pay for this order.
Mom: Oh, I didn’t. I clicked on Cash at Pickup.

This confuses me, because it seems so much more complex than simply placing an order over the phone—especially for my mom. Then I remember that she told me China House wasn’t answering their phone.

Me: So then, what’s the problem?
Mom: What do I do next?
Me: [looking at the screen with my fake order on it] Click where it says Place Order.
Mom: And then what will happen?
Me: Your computer will explode into a million tiny plastic shards, and time will move in reverse until you’re back in high school. Is that okay?
Mom: Don’t get cute with me. I taught you how to use a toilet.

She has a point. Even if it took me longer than most kids to get the hang of it, especially at night. But I digress.

Me: I assume it’ll place your order with China House. It might give you some indication of when you should go pick it up. Then, um, Dad can go pick it up, I guess.
Mom: [cheerily] Okay! Thanks!

Click.

I go back to my work… again. A few minutes later, the phone rings. I don’t even need to check the caller ID.

Me: Mom? What now?
Mom: Your father just called from downtown. They’re closed.

I feel awful for them both. They’ve been stuck in the house for weeks, like the rest of us, and they look forward to their outings.

Knowing my dad, though, he probably just stopped at the Wendy’s drive-thru on his way back home. You know, now that he’s an expert.

Today I taught my parents…

This week on “Today I Taught My Parents,” we watch as Linda tries to walk her father through using the Wendy’s drive-thru. Over the phone. During a pandemic.

*****

The phone rings. It’s one of my parents, but I’m in the middle of a video-conference board meeting that’s going to last for three hours, so I let it go to voicemail. While I’m smiling and nodding at the webcam and trying to take notes on the meeting, I surreptitiously open my email program and zap an email off to my mom telling her why I didn’t answer the phone.

At the end of the meeting, I see an email from her, stating my dad has a question, and that he’ll call in the morning “after 10.” I reply and ask to push it back to noon, knowing I won’t be conscious before 10 or 10:30.

The next day, the phone rings at 11:55 a.m. My parents are nothing if not overly punctual.

Me: Hi, Dad. Whassup?
Dad: Hey, what do you know about the Wendy’s drive-thru?
Me: What do you mean, what do I know?
Dad: How does it work?

At this point it occurs to me that I’m not sure my parents have ever used a fast food drive-thru. Like, ever. Sure, they’ve had fast food, but my recollection is that they always park, always go inside, and always eat in the dining room. Like civilized people.

I, on the other hand, grab greasy drive-thru food and eat it in my car on the way home from the grocery store, where I’ve just purchased healthy produce and low-carb ingredients for the pantry. The irony of this is never lost on me.

Me: Well, the Wendy’s near you has two windows. You pay at the first one and…
Dad: Do they take debit cards?
Me: Yeah, of course.
Dad: How does that work?
Me: Well, you order at the big light-up menu first and then…
Dad: Do they take your card from you?
Me (now feeling slightly confused): Umm, yes…?
Dad: Like, they take the actual card?
Me: Yeah. You hand them the card through the window—the first window—and they swipe it and hand it back to you. Then…
Dad: They hand it back through the window?
Me: Umm, yes…?

At this point I’m starting to wonder if this is an elaborate prank. But then I remember this is my dad, and that he still carries filthy wads of cash in his wallet. On purpose.

Dad: And then?
Me: Then, when you get your card back, you drive to the second window to pick up your order.
Dad: Uh huh.

At this point I’m starting to wonder if he’s taking notes.

Me: Usually at Wendy’s, your receipt is in the bag with your order at the second window. At McDonald’s they give you the receipt when they hand back your debit card.
Dad (hesitating): Umm, okay. Thanks!
Me: Enjoy!

Yup, he’s taking notes. Or maybe he’s just worrying about whether to bring along some sanitizing wipes to wipe down the debit card when they hand it back. I’ve been doing this myself the past few weeks.

Meanwhile, I’m starting to realize how many times I must have used fast food drive-thru windows, if I know how each one handles your receipt.

In the days of a pandemic, when stepping through the door of any business now means mandatory face masks, even my parents see the appeal of drive-thru windows. And debit cards. And sanitizing wipes.

Stay safe out there, Dad.