I had some free time last week so I wasted about 20 hours trying to download my vacation photos from a Nikon CoolPix camera onto my iMac. Before you point out this should take about 60 seconds, please be advised that some folks with serious digital credentials couldn’t get ’er done either. The Coolpix instruction manual, which I did manage to download, was brief but optimistic, explaining that with Macintosh sharing photos was practically automatic. After 20 hours all I could think of was automatic weapon.

It’s not just me.

TimeWarner can’t make a cable box that’s compatible with their network for more than a few months. My parents can’t figure out how to retrieve messages on their fancy new wall phone (granted they’re 86 and 91 and have dropped it several times.) And I only know one person who can program a TV remote.

While I was struggling with the miracle that is digital photography, my buddy in Raymond was having his own digital meltdown. He had purchased a new phone/answering system. Like most, this system came with a pre-recorded voice that answered calls until you personalized the message. Most of these voices are inoffensive, but my buddy’s sounded like he’d taken in a samba dancer from Rio as a roommate. After a few days of friends inquiring about his gender issues, he sat down with the system’s 20-page instruction booklet. I don’t know how many hours he wasted before abandoning the recommended procedure in favor of a strategy that comprised pushing buttons at random. Before long, he could no longer hear the Brazilian’s voice when someone called. And even though the system insisted it was recording, it never recorded him. About the only thing he could do was make calls. He called me to announce he had achieved digital nirvana total system shutdown.

“Have you tried re-booting?” I asked.

It’s not just digital gadgets either. Last year I bought a new refrigerator. I asked the salesman how long it would last and he said five or six years.

“Really?” I said, obviously disappointed.

He explained that microchips typically last that long. Three weeks later I awoke to discover that fish sticks I’d purchased the day before were now swimming in a puddle that was once my freezer. Welcome to the future. People sitting at green lights while they talk on their cell phones. Clerks asking for personal information at the cash register. Virtually everything we buy, from cat toys to a Cadillac, is dependent on 89-cent micro-parts manufactured in dimly lit Asian factories by youngsters in violation of international labor laws. Some call this progress.

I grew up in a nuts and bolts world. Stuff you could see and feel and fix. Now we have clouds. Remember solenoids that used to control things like refrigerators? They’d work through a tsunami. And don’t counter that your kids are learning to multi-task. The latest research on that indicates they’ve now just learned to do several things poorly at once.

Last week I lost all the on-demand channels on my TV. I re-booted, of course, but it took a house call from TimeWarner to solve the problem. And a few days ago an appliance that I depend on for my livelihood, my iMac, failed. All I wanted to do was protect my local home network with a password. You’d think this would be one dialog box, then pick a secret word. You’d be wrong. Instead, I had to dive deep into the Networking Preferences, Rename stuff, Save stuff, Apply and Don’t Apply stuff; I even had to answer questions like, Do you have a DCHP connection with your Internet service provider? That’s Dynamic Host Configuration Protocol, if you’re taking notes. Rather than harass TimeWarner again, I guessed. Then I called my buddy: total system shutdown had been achieved.

Luckily I’d also packed an old-fashioned film camera on my vacation. I took the film down to the local drug store to get prints made, and CDs, too. The prints were fine but the CDs displayed the images upside down. Just for laughs, I asked why. The photo person explained that the film only went in one way but the system printed some brands of film wrong. Kodak was fine, but not the Fujifilm I used.

“Funny,” they said. “The machine is made by Fujifilm Corporation.”

Funny? Not one damn bit, so to speak.

I sent the snapshots off to my parents. I used our old-fashioned post office and my folks will use some old-fashioned magnets to hang a few on their refrigerator door. I’ve calmed down with the help of mood enhancers, but if I ever find out who wrote that Nikon instruction manual, I’m going to kick the warm tuna fish right out of him.

Rick Roberts (reroberts46@yahoo.com) is a veteran of Boston’s advertising community and the U.S. Army. He lives in Windham. He is author of two books: Digital Darling, recently awarded Honorable Mention at the New England Book Festival; and the boomer rant, I Was Much Happier When Everything I Owned Was In The Back Seat Of My Volkswagen. Both are available thru bookstores, Amazon.com, or visit: BabyBoomerPress.com.