Email Fail, Part 2

| Taiwan, Taipei | Parents & Guardians, Popular

(My mum is really horrible at technology. She is used to using the desktop computer as long as Dad is there helping her, but today he’s using it so I bring over my laptop. It is also touch screen with touch pad. I use both often.)

Me: “Tell me when you see the antivirus loading on the screen.”

(I go away for less than a minute when she yells.)

Me: “What happened?”

Mum: “It’s broken.”

(I see that it is doing a disk check due to improper shutting off.)

Me: “It’s fine; just leave it be.”

(Mum starts pressing the keyboard randomly before I grab her hand.)

Me: “No, leave it alone.”

(Eventually the computer gets to the desktop. I make sure everything is okay and make sure the wifi is connected.)

Me: “What do you need to do?”

Mum: “Email.”

Me: “Where?”

Mum: “I need to write an email!”

Me: “With the [ISP] address?”

Mum: “Yes.”

(I just open the ISP email page and get her to type in name/password.)

Mum: “Uh…”

Me: “You don’t know the password?”

Mum: “Your dad does everything.”

(I get the password from dad and come back to log her in and she says okay. I leave for 20 seconds before she calls me.)

Mum: “No mouse.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

(After I bring one over she continues to stare.)

Mum: “Are you sure this is right? It looks wrong.”

Me: “Are you writing a new email, replying to one, or what?”

Mum: “New email.”

(I open it up and click the recipient box.)

Me: “And to whom?”

Mum: “My boss in charge of seminars.”

Me: “Name? Email?”

Mum: “[Name].”

Me: “All set.”

Mum: “But, this entire screen is different.”

Me: “Dad must have used Outlook, that’s all. It’s still email.”

Mum: “I don’t know how to use this.”

Me: “Just type your message in this big box and when you’re done press send right over here.”

(Mum is still rather skeptical, but starts typing.)

Mum: “Uh…”

Me: “Now what?”

Mum: “I don’t want English…”

Email Fail


Cannot Beliebe You Almost Did That

| Falls Church, VA, USA | Parents & Guardians, Popular

(I am in my bedroom reading when my dad walks in holding a t-shirt backwards. He sells tickets to get extra money, and often gets t-shirts from bands and singers as he is part of a lot of fan clubs.)

Dad: “Do you want this shirt?”

Me: “Sure? Who’s it from?”

Dad: “Doesn’t matter. If you want this shirt, you have to promise you’ll wear it tomorrow. If not, I’ll give it to [Brother].”

Me: “Uhhh… ermmmmm… nnnnnno?”

(My dad then turns the shirt around. It has a picture of Justin Bieber.)

Me: “Oh, THANK GOD!”


The Milk Of Human Unkindness

| Portland, OR, USA | Popular, Sons & Daughters

(My younger daughter is lactose intolerant. Her big sister is not. Like all sisters, especially those about nine and six like mine are, they argue and fight sometimes.)

Me: *to my older daughter* “If you could be anyone for a day, who would you be?”

Older Daughter: “[Younger Sister], and I would drink a lot of milk so that she would have a tummy ache when she turned back into herself at the end of the day.”