The Worst Customer Service Help Desk...

…is staffed by me. I don’t want to be unhelpful, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

Some years ago, I was voted to be the computer support provider for my father. I was not in the room when the vote was taken, so I had no say. He has a computer at home that he primarily uses to do the bookkeeping for his local VFW. But he also uses it for personal reasons like sending me and anyone else he can think of ridiculous emails and looking up crap on the Internet.

I am not an IT expert by any means, but I know more than I should. At least, I know more than most people. I work in a small office that has no IT department and I happen to work for a guy that I can only describe as a “gadget guy.” His gadgets of choice extend to everything from home electronics, recording studios, model trains to, of course, computers. By necessity we’ve had to solve a lot of our own computer issues over the years and I’ve learned a lot from him, so this is why I was the likely candidate to provide the same services to my father.

My father’s knowledge of how to operate his computer is basically, how to turn it on. He knows how to read his email and he knows how to hit the forward button on same. (One time he accidentally forwarded my sister and me an email joke that contained a picture of a naked woman. When I got it, I immediately called my sister to see if she got it too. As we are laughing hysterically because we figure he has no idea how to selectively forward an email to people in his address book, my other phone is ringing and it’s him. As you can imagine he’s mortified that we got it, since he only meant to send it along to his cronies. The best part was that he sent it to EVERYONE in his address book)! He also knows how to check things out on the Internet. I’m not sure what he’s checking out, but I’m fairly certain that I don’t want to know.

Occasionally I will get a support call regarding things like the mysteriously disappearing toolbar, the attachment that won’t open, or my personal favorite: why won’t this document print? I got that call one Sunday afternoon.

Dad: Hey, I’m trying to print something and it won’t print.
Me: Did you accidentally delete the printer again?
Dad: I don’t think so.
Me: What happens when you try to print? Do you get an error message or something?
Dad: No. Nothing happens.
Me: Is the printer on?
Dad: Yes.
Me: Could the ink cartridge be empty?
Dad: No, I just put a new one in.
Me: {Thinking “ahah.”} Did you forget to take the tape off the copper part on the cartridge?
Dad: No. I printed something this morning and it worked ok.

I had him check a couple more things, ran out of ideas and told him that I would drive over and take a look. He lives about 20 minutes or so from me. By the time I got there he had left to go to a meeting so I had the place to myself. Good thing too. I took one look at the printer and wanted to pull my hair out or at least run around the house screaming in frustration at whoever was home. The printer was out of paper.

From this moment on, I knew I was in trouble. My patience was at an all time low and this was becoming readily apparent to me every time I was called upon to provide support. The latest call came a couple of weeks ago while I was at work.

He got a letter that the tax-exempt status for some group he belongs to was expiring soon and that he should visit www.irs.gov and then click the Charities & Non-Profits tab. He was having trouble finding this. So I immediately go to the website and have no trouble spotting the tab in question.

Me: Don’t you see the tab just under the big blue block at the top of the webpage?
Dad: What? No, I don’t see that.
Me: It’s just next to the picture of the happy people. Do you see that?
Dad: No. It says Bing… {the rest is lost as I try to speak over him}
Me: Don’t do a Bing search for irs.gov, just type that into the top of the page where you normally type in website addresses.
Dad: What?  Where?
Me: Just click in the box at the top of the page and type in www.irs.gov. Then hit enter.
Dad: There’s already something there.
Me: I know, but if you click in the box it will turn blue and you can delete what’s there. Just do it.
Dad: Ok. {I hear typing.} It says Bing….
Me: {Starting to get frustrated} DON’T TYPE IN THE BING SEARCH BOX. GO TO THE TOP OF THE SCREEN AND TYPE IT THERE.

I’m pretty sure at this point I started thumping my desk in frustration with my fist and outside my office people were starting to congregate as they listened to the drama unfold. It took several more tries before I managed to direct his cursor to the address bar and got him to the stupid IRS website. By then, I was nearly shouting at him.  He didn’t seem to mind which I don’t understand at all. I think he derives great amusement in these phone calls. Some sort of father/daughter bonding or something.

So, hats off to anyone who is in the business of providing any form of computer support. It can’t be even remotely easy. You must have infinite stores of patience (which I apparently don’t have). I fully comprehend that I stink at it.  I wish I could be like you, but I don't think I've got it in me.