Back in the days before everyone had a computer, you used to see this poster in offices that read, “To err is human; to really screw things up takes a computer.” (In terms of office poster popularity, this one rates just after the “Hang In There, Baby” kitten, and just before my personal favorite, the Zen-like “Thimk.”)

But these days, with computers being much more reliable and easier to use, that poster probably should be amended to say, “To really make a hash of things, call tech support.”

My Internet service provider recently contacted me – ironically, by e-mail – to tell me that I should reconfigure my e-mail so they could “serve me better.” OK, I admit, I should have known better. I’ve been around long enough to realize that any time a big corporation says it’s doing me a favor, it’s time to count the silverware.

But I did as instructed and reconfigured my e-mail. And, of course, it immediately quit working.

I called the toll-free tech support number. In fact, I called it so many times that I now have it memorized. It was the same routine every time. I’d get the automated phone system and it would ask me a raft of questions – my support issue, my name, my wife’s name, my dog’s name, my e-mail address, my billing address, the Gettysburg Address and, if memory serves, my favorite Beatle. Then it would put me on hold. And then it would disconnect me.

This routine quickly lost what little entertainment value it initially had. The first three times the system asked what my problem was, I very calmly said, “e-mail.” The fourth and fifth time I replied, but no longer calmly. By the sixth time, I was livid. “What’s my problem? I told you my problem – it’s my freaking e-mail. What’s your problem?” This was immensely gratifying until I realized I was matching wits with a recording – and losing.

On my seventh try I finally got past the automated system (I bet astronauts don’t get screened this thoroughly) and spoke with a live person. He introduced himself as Santhanam Maharajapuram Ganesh (“but please to call me Darrell”) and ran through the same litany of questions. Almost as an afterthought, he enquired about my operating system. I told him I was on a Macintosh and he said, “One thousand apologies but I am very much not supporting OS X. Please allow me to connect you with someone who is being of much great assistance.” Then he disconnected me.

It’s funny how reluctant the support techs are to tell you where they’re located. At one point Darrell said, “I see you are calling from Texas.” I said I was, and I asked him where he was. “Well, I am at one of our global support centers.” I don’t know exactly where this “global support center” is but if Darrell has a car, I bet it has a bumper sticker that says, “Krishna Is My Co-pilot.”

Finally, after a few more calls and a lot more time spent on hold, I got my e-mail up and running – or at least limping. Before the support tech signed off, he asked if I’d like to participate in a survey about the service I received. I told him I would, but I’m not holding my breath – they’re e-mailing it.