No, William, there’s no such thing as better living through technology

Dear William Hatfield: You once said, “Better living through technology” and I have never forgiven you for that.

William, have you seen my hair lately? It’s all white. I look like I woke up in the middle of the night and saw the ghost of Donald Trump standing by my bedside and … oh, wait. Donald Trump isn’t ghost-adjacent, at least not yet.

William, maybe technology works for you, but for me, Lieutenant Col. Luddite, it’s like screaming at the AI-generated phone tree ’bot that asks, “Do you want to speak to a customer service representative?” to which I respond, “YES! YES! For the 10,653^rd time, YES!” and then the ’bot chirps, “Let me transfer you to a new automated menu!”

Not gray hair, William. White hair.

I decided to take your advice and apply the “better living through technology” ideology to my bill-paying. Every month I sat down with a pile of bills – gas, electric, phone, water, TV, internet – and dutifully wrote my paper checks, even balancing my checkbook the old-fashioned way, because all the crossword puzzles, Wheel of Fortune and Prevagen was not helping this withered, atrophied old brain. And then I dutifully deposited these written-on-paper checks in their stamped envelopes and dropped them in that good old-fashioned mailbox, where they were promptly dumped in a wooded area by a disgruntled postal worker taking a stand against “the man.”

So I thought: “Wouldn’t it be easier if these bills were paid directly from my checking account?” Actually, no, it would NOT be easier, but I was determined to live better through technology, so I dove into the world of “auto pay.” Not “bill pay.” They may both have something to do with banks, but auto pay is as different from bill pay as I am different from Timothee Chalamet. We may both be males, but I think it’s a safe bet he does better on the dating apps than I.

So I set up my bills to be paid automatically from my checking account and for the most part it was a pain-free process, except in one case the utility “forgot” my account and started sending me paper bills again, and I expect my water to be cut off any day now from non-payment because I haven’t seen an email from them in weeks.

Next came the credit card bills. Cue the music from “Jaws.”

I have two credit cards. One gives me cash back. The other gives me points I can use at Amazon – and I better not get any grief for shopping at Amazon. I would LOVE to shop at a local business, or even a not-local business. But everybody is so busy living better through technology that they shop online, which in retail terms means Fort Walton Beach has the same beachfront acreage as the Gobi Desert. I HAVE to shop at Amazon.

The first credit card was a simple, 5-minute process. The second? It reminded me of the Apollo 13 mission. “Complex” doesn’t begin to describe. “Infuriating,” “frustrating,” “unintuitive” or even “turning your hair from gray to white” are the words that come to mind.

It was a THREE-DAY process. It involved multiple calls to the bank’s 800 number. A trip to the bank, where the customer service representative tried to tell me (a) it would be easier to set it up from my host bank than THEIR bank because THEIR bank had an antiquated computer system that didn’t like other computer systems. Their computer system IS antiquated. It reminds me of the computer system in place when I started working at the Playgound Daily News in 1979 (Yes, William, I know you weren’t even born in 1979, but trust me. We had a computer system at the newspaper back then. I think there were gerbils in the operating system.) Then (b) she tried to tell me their website had all the answers to my questions (I am shaking my head “no” and smiling ruefully).

So she and I got on the phone with their bank’s “customer service” representatives and even SHE could not get the right information. We were transferred, put on hold, listened to some really awful hold music, and it was not until we were connected with a department that had NOTHING to do with my request that we finally got some resolution.

But wait, we weren’t done. Oh no, there was more. They had to send some test deposits to my account, then make a test withdrawal. After that, I had to re-enter the digital version of Mordor and request some kind of epay ca-ca, verify my checking account (the one they just sent the tests to), then tell it how much to pay every month, plus when to pay.

Three days, William! Three days I’ve been working this problem. And now that it’s over I feel like I should be handed some kind of an award, you know, like a Medal of Persistence with Just for Men clusters.

And guess what? That credit card expires next year. I may have to go through this ALL. OVER. AGAIN.

Next time I’m calling you. You can handle it. Your hair isn’t white – last time I saw it, anyway. I’m digging this “getting old and being helpless” thing.

OK, time for me to go. There’s a warm cup of milk and some Metamucil calling my name. Don’t call or text me, William, because the phone will be in the other room, on the charger. You know how we old farts are.

Every now and again we like to take a break from the benefits of technology.

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .