Why This Funny Lady Should Never Be Trusted with Technology

There are people who understand technology.

There are people who tolerate technology.

And then there is this funny lady.

She approaches every electronic device with the confidence of someone who has absolutely no idea what she is doing but firmly believes the problem is probably the device's fault.

Give her a smartphone and she'll accidentally call three people.

Give her a laptop and she'll somehow make the printer disappear.

Give her a smart TV and within twenty minutes she'll be standing in front of it shouting, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?”

The remarkable thing is that she isn't technologically illiterate.

She's technologically adventurous.

She presses buttons.

She changes settings.

She accepts mysterious pop-ups.

She clicks links with the optimism of a woman opening birthday presents.

And then, when something inevitably goes wrong, she calls for help.

“I think I broke the internet.”

This sentence has been heard more times than anyone would like to admit.

It Started with the Remote

Her relationship with technology began innocently enough.

The first real warning sign was the television remote.

There were approximately forty buttons on it.

Power.

Volume.

Channel.

Input.

Menu.

Guide.

Source.

Settings.

A red button whose purpose nobody could explain.

She used four.

Power, volume, channel up, and channel down.

That was enough.

Then one afternoon she accidentally pressed “Input.”

The screen went black.

She panicked.

“I broke the television.”

“You pressed Input.”

“What does that mean?”

“It changes the source.”

“Why would a television have sources?”

“Because you have multiple devices connected.”

“I have one television.”

And that was how she spent twenty minutes attempting to convince the television to return to television.

Eventually, someone pressed the same button again.

The picture returned.

She looked at the remote suspiciously.

“I don't trust it.”

The remote, presumably, didn't trust her either.

The Smartphone Era

Then came the smartphone.

Everyone told her it would make life easier.

This was a lie.

The smartphone did not make her life easier.

It gave her approximately 900 new ways to become confused.

She learned how to make calls, send messages, take photographs, and use social media.

Unfortunately, she learned them all simultaneously.

Her first major achievement was accidentally sending a photograph of her lunch to the entire family group chat.

Nobody minded.

Then she sent a second photograph.

Then a third.

Then a blurry image of her thumb.

Finally, her brother replied:

“Are you trying to tell us something?”

“No.”

“Then why have you sent us eleven pictures?”

“I was testing it.”

“What were you testing?”

“I don't know.”

This became her standard explanation.

“I was testing it.”

It is the technological equivalent of “I meant to do that.”

The Password Problem

Passwords are where things became serious.

Modern technology demands passwords for everything.

Email.

Banking.

Streaming services.

Shopping websites.

Social media.

Food delivery.

The smart thermostat, presumably, will eventually demand one.

She created passwords based on things she could remember.

Then she forgot them.

So she created new passwords.

Then forgot those.

Then clicked “Forgot Password.”

The system asked her to verify her identity.

She became offended.

“I know who I am!”

The website disagreed.

It asked for the answer to a security question.

“What was the name of your first pet?”

She typed it.

Incorrect.

She tried again.

Incorrect.

She called someone.

“What was the name of my first pet?”

“How would I know?”

“Because you're my relative.”

“That doesn't mean I know your childhood pets.”

After several attempts, she discovered that years earlier she had apparently answered the question with the name of a completely different animal.

Why?

Nobody knows.

Even she doesn't know.

Her password manager now contains enough passwords to qualify as a small intelligence agency.

She still writes the important ones on paper.

She keeps the paper somewhere “safe.”

Nobody knows where.

Including her.

Her Greatest Enemy: The Update

Every device eventually says the same thing:

“Update available.”

Most people click “Install.”

She sees a warning.

“Your device will restart.”

Her response?

“No.”

She treats software updates like unwanted houseguests.

“I don't have time for this.”

The device waits.

A week later:

“Update available.”

“No.”

Another week:

“Update available.”

“I said no.”

Eventually the computer begins behaving strangely.

Applications stop working.

The printer disappears.

The internet becomes unreliable.

She calls technical support.

“My computer is acting weird.”

“Have you installed the latest update?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it asked me if I wanted to.”

“Yes.”

“And I didn't.”

There is a long silence.

“Could you install it now?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm busy.”

This is how technological civilizations collapse.

The Printer

The printer deserves its own chapter.

Printers have always been difficult.

But in her hands, a printer becomes a philosophical crisis.

The printer says:

“Paper jam.”

She opens it.

There is no paper jam.

“It says there's a paper jam.”

“Maybe there is paper somewhere inside.”

She removes the paper tray.

Nothing.

She opens another compartment.

Nothing.

She shakes the printer.

“Don't shake it.”

“Why?”

“Because it's a printer.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

She shakes it again.

Eventually a tiny piece of paper falls out.

She looks triumphant.

“See?”

“What?”

“It was hiding.”

The printer works again.

She walks away believing she has defeated a mechanical enemy.

The Smart Home Disaster

Then someone gave her a smart speaker.

This was an irresponsible decision.

The device was designed to respond to voice commands.

She immediately began treating it like a household employee.

“Play music.”

The speaker played music.

“Stop.”

It stopped.

“What's the weather?”

It told her.

For several days, everything went well.

Then she discovered the device could control lights.

This was where things went wrong.

“Turn off the living room light.”

Nothing happened.

“TURN OFF THE LIVING ROOM LIGHT.”

Still nothing.

She walked over and switched it off manually.

“There.”

She looked at the speaker.

“You're useless.”

The speaker remained silent.

“I know you heard me.”

It probably did.

Then she accidentally connected her phone to the speaker while someone else was using it.

Suddenly, music began playing from her phone.

She panicked.

“Who's playing music?”

“You are.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, your phone is connected.”

“To what?”

“The speaker.”

“What speaker?”

“The one you've been yelling at for ten minutes.”

She stared at it.

“Oh.”

Artificial Intelligence Meets Natural Confusion

The arrival of artificial intelligence was inevitable.

Naturally, she embraced it.

“AI is amazing,” she announced.

“What are you using it for?”

“Everything.”

This was concerning.

She asked AI to write a shopping list.

Then a birthday message.

Then a complaint to customer service.

Then she asked it whether her microwave was broken.

AI, to its credit, attempted to help.

She responded:

“I don't believe it.”

“Why?”

“Because it sounds too confident.”

That was perhaps the wisest thing she had said all year.

She then began asking increasingly strange questions.

“Can AI tell if someone is lying?”

“No.”

“Can it tell if my cat is mad at me?”

“Not reliably.”

“Can it tell me where I put my glasses?”

“No.”

She looked at the computer.

“Then what's the point?”

The computer had no answer.

Technology Doesn't Hate Her

The truth is that technology doesn't actually hate her.

It simply doesn't know what to do with her.

Technology operates according to instructions.

She operates according to instinct.

Technology says:

“Would you like to save this file?”

She says:

“I think so.”

Technology says:

“Are you sure?”

She says:

“Probably.”

Technology says:

“This action cannot be undone.”

She says:

“Let's see what happens.”

And then everyone else runs toward the computer.

The Final Straw

Her greatest technological disaster happened when she attempted to connect her phone to the car.

The instructions were simple.

Open Bluetooth.

Select the car.

Enter the code.

Done.

Instead, she connected her phone to a nearby stranger's vehicle.

She didn't realize.

She started playing music.

The stranger's car began playing it too.

They were parked several spaces away.

Both cars suddenly erupted with the same music.

She looked around.

“What is happening?”

Nobody knew.

Eventually, the stranger appeared.

“Is that your phone?”

“Yes.”

“It's connected to my car.”

She stared at him.

Then at her phone.

Then at his car.

“Oh.”

There was a pause.

“I was wondering why the music was following me.”

Why She Should Never Be Trusted

So, should this funny lady really never be trusted with technology?

Probably not.

She has, after all, learned quite a lot.

She knows how to use a smartphone.

She can send emails.

She can video call.

She understands online shopping.

She even knows what Bluetooth is, although she has demonstrated that knowing what something is and knowing how to use it are two entirely different skills.

But she should perhaps never be given unrestricted access to technology without supervision.