I’m a very discriminate crier. I rarely cry at old people’s funerals or at weddings. In fact, the last time I cried was two years ago, when I learned I was going to be a grandmother. However, this week the proverbial dike broke, and I wept and sniveled for over an hour. Why? Sheer, unadulterated stupidity and frustration!

No internet service, the root of my sadness, forced me to call COX, my provider. A very nice child technician came and assessed my issue, changed my WiFi around, and departed. While the internet on both my computer and cell phone worked, my TV’s, printer, and outside cameras were not. My fancy Linksys towers were dead. So I read, I watched fix-it videos, and monkeyed around for three plus hours trying to get the printer to work. (Because I needed it, stat!) My efforts were futile–I cried. I blew my nose. I cried. I yelled at the dogs and swore every profane phrase I knew–even meanie head. I cried.

Once I regained composure, my thoughts led me back to Youngstown, Ohio. Now a decaying steel town, but in its prime was the third largest city, where many European immigrants settled. I wondered how many times they cried from frustration when relocating to a new country, with a different language, monetary system, cuisine, and societal norms. One of my friend’s parents came from Greece. Her mother sat in front of the living room window, dressed in a black, and wearing a black head scarf. She never left the house, never learned to speak English, never learned to drive, never went to the store. She would politely wave at me when I came in their house, and I would speak to her. But she’d just shake her head and returning to staring out the window.

So, just like Mrs. Pappas, I was a digital immigrant this week. This new technological knowledge world and all of its nuances brought me to tears. Since summer has arrived to the desert, I can’t don a black dress and sit on my patio waiting until my high-tech knight-on-white horse rescues me next week.