I am one of those people who often resists new technology, like the 19th century Luddites.

Hey, what’s wrong with a rotary dial phone or the 1967 Ampex 16-track professional audio recorder? I still miss my first car, a Studebaker. I have a library of classic films on VHS that are now obsolete. I used to write on a typewriter, but — to be fair — I can do more with a computer.

Question: Does new technology always make our lives better? Yes and no. I welcome advanced technology in medicine. I have accepted that when I call my bank, mortgage lender or doctor, there are procedures to identify myself. I do dislike technology, however, that makes communication more difficult, if not impossible. It is like a safeguard system that is so good one gets locked out of their own house.

Take the telephone companies, for instance.

It is almost impossible to get through to a living person when there is a problem with a bill, and I am told even the chatroom is manned (right word?) with robots. In my lifetime, I have never had or needed a code, password or pin for a telephone. It is also a bit ironic that when one gets those things, but fails to reach a human being, the phone companies suspect the person calling is a terrorist or a hacker trying to exploit the system.

You can imagine my alarm when the cellphone companies went from 3G to 4G and 5G. That meant getting a new upgraded phone. For me, it was a daunting challenge. The first phone didn’t work. I could hear them but they couldn’t hear me. After hours on hold and employees at the phone stores insisting I talk to someone at the main local office, I did manage to get a pin.

So far so good, right? Wrong. When I saw an item on my first bill that seemed wrong, I tried to call the company. I even had a direct contact number slipped into my hand by a store employee. I called but did not get far. The questions came: Your name and number don’t compute. What is your password? What was my favorite restaurant in San Francisco? Where did I meet my spouse? We just sent you a website. (I don’t have a computer at home and the websites can’t answer my question.) Check the new app out and have a nice day. At that point, the connection is broken. In all fairness, one operator did call back but her voice was too low and unintelligible.

As I admitted, I am a Luddite, but when I announce that, it usually draws blank stares, and it doesn’t register with a robot. According to Wikipedia, “The Luddites were a secret oath-based organization of English textile workers in the 19th century, a radical faction which destroyed textile machinery. The group evidently took their name from Ned Ludd, a weaver. Luddites feared that the time spent learning the skills of their craft would go to waste, as machines would replace their role in the industry.”

I guess I am lucky. The British army shot Luddites when they protested. The modern definition of “Luddite” is a person who resists modern technology. I somewhat fit that definition, and I must confess it is a bit lonely and unsettling to be in a store and meet others who never have problems with technology or navigating websites. I have come to recognize that probing stare and anticipate that awful question: “You know we have an internet, right?”

Yes, I do, and I know the Rams are back in Los Angeles.

At this writing, I have three choices: Pay the bill, go to the main office where I will, at least, find a mortal — or get a new server … which means the process starts all over again. As my favorite Minnesota songwriter sings, “I’d pay any price to get out of going through this twice.”

Michael Corrigan graduated from San Francisco State with a Master of Arts degree in English and creative writing. He was active in theater and attended the American Film Institute. He retired from Idaho State University as an instructor of English and speech communications. He has written several books, including “Confessions of a Shanty Irishman,” “Mulligan” and “These Precious Hours.” NPR broadcast his play for two readers: “Letters from Rebecca.”