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.
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.