There should be a Congressional investigation into why no one can write a comprehensible manual for using the computer. I'm reasonably intelligent, but whenever I come to a point where my deskbeast won't do what I want/need it to do, the situation rapidly deteriorates into chaos.
First, I visit the HELP section. Here I am given a list of instructions that leads in a very wide, very challenging circle, accomplishing nothing but ending with the question, "Did this solve the problem?" If the answer is NO, they don't want to hear it.
Then I go online for help. Here the instructions for solving the problem are written in an obscure dialect used by the ancient Hittites intermittently studded with offers to download programs guaranteed to fix the problem for only $39.95. Maybe they would, but I never get them to download; the beast doesn't like the way they look or smell or whatever.
So we try the manual. It is hundreds of pages long, but in all of that recorded wisdom there is not one reference to the problem I'm currently experiencing. It is nicely formatted, though.
Finally there's the dreaded phone call. The tech understands the beast much better than I do; if only he understood English, too. The last one scolded me for talk of repair shops. "We can help you fix it, mum. You do not need to pay." But the call got dropped just as I finished explaining the problem, probably due to a storm over the Indian Ocean.
That leads to your local fix-it guy. He's odd as two sticks, but he nods sagely when I explain the problem. Then he wipes everything off the hard drive, charges me a one arm and a leg to the knee, and sends me home to try to cope with the mess.
Now I know why medieval families planned that one child would be dedicated to the church. I should have forced one of my children to embrace this new religion.