Caution: Buying a Computer
is Only the Beginning

ere is a Christmas shopping tips column for those who are plunging headlong into the world of home computing.

First tip: Be prepared to go nuts. I don't care if you get a Windows PC (the most widely used) or a Mac (by far, the easiest to operate). Either way, it will have your eyes spinning like pinwheels. That's because nothing you have bought can prepare you for the crazy world of home computers.

As the computer writers of the New York Times have repeatedly pointed out, no other major industry tries to get away with selling products that are riddled with defects, then offhandedly refers to the serious defects as ''bugs.'' As if defective products are something we should just shrug off.

If I were a whiz, I wouldn't be giving you advice because a whiz can work out just about any problem.

But the cutesy types in the computer business think nothing of selling products that don't work, work some of the time, or work if you spend what seems like a lifetime fiddling with them.

To show what you will be up against, here are a few examples of what I've recently experienced.

Now, I'm not a computer whiz, but I'm not a novice, either. I've owned Windows PCs and Macs for several years. I've wandered the Internet and use computers in my work. If I were a whiz, I wouldn't be giving you advice because a whiz can work out just about any problem.

So, here we go:

The other day I ordered four software programs from something called Mac Zone, a mail order house. If you buy a Mac, you'll find that the big computer stores carry few Mac programs.

You're better off dealing with the mail order houses for computers and software. Their catalogs carry bigger lines, you pay no sales tax, and you get overnight delivery.

Anyway, I ordered the four programs--three for myself and one, a game, as a gift for a child.

Of the four, one worked.

The game had a flaw: the software was in the box, but the manual wasn't. Because the game can't be installed without the serial number printed on the manual, the software was useless.

The third program also had a serious flaw. The manual was in the box but the software wasn't.

The fourth program . . . but more on this doozy later.

With two programs only half delivered, I called Mac Zone's customer service department.

A young lady took the complaint. She said she would find out what she could do and call me back soon.

Several hours later, no call. So I called again. This time I got a recorded message that said: ''Due to weather conditions, we cannot take your call at this time. Please try later.''

Weather conditions? What is this, an outdoor flea market?

So I called the Mac Zone number used to order products.

A live person instantly answered. Another rule of the computer world: If you want to buy something, someone is always available. But if you bought something and it is screwed up, you will become a human bumper car.

I asked the salesperson: ''What's this about 'weather conditions?' "

''Oh, we had snow and most of the customer support people didn't make it in to work. People around here (near Seattle) aren't used to heavy snow and they don't know how to deal with it.''

Thirty-six hours later, I tried their customer service number again. The ''weather conditions'' recording was still going. Maybe polar bears ate them all.

Finally the fourth program, called E-Mailer. It is supposed to automatically download and send the e-mail, makes it easy to sort and file, and so on. It has been lavishly praised by the computer critics. I get a ton of e-mail every day, so I thought the newest version would make my life easier.

Also, I'm acquainted with one of the programmers who created E-Mailer--Guy Kawasaki, a highly regarded computer writer and whiz.

Guy, if you happen to see this, then let me be blunt: I hate your program, I curse it, I spit on it.

After two days of following the manual to the letter, the thing wouldn't work. Worse, it kept sending me excuses that made it appear that the fault was mine.

So I finally gave up and called the technical support number at the Claris company, which makes the thing.

I got the usual ''if you want . . .'' press 1, press 2, press 3. . . . Then I got a live woman who grilled me for all sorts of serial numbers, pin numbers, etc., before switching me to another recorded voice that invited me to press 1, 2, 3, and so on.

Finally, an actual living young man had me make a few slight changes, suggested I give it a try, and contact him if it didn't work.

It didn't. So I called again. And after pressing a lot more phone buttons, I found myself on hold.

Then a recorded voice came on and began jabbering at me in what, I believe, was French.

It's bad enough that I couldn't reach a human, but the least I expect is that the recorded messages will be in English.

After the recorded Frenchy finished, there was a beep for me to give a recorded message of my own.

So I said: ''When I learn how to say kiss my butt in Frog lingo, I will call you back.''

Anyway, before you go leaping blindly into this stuff, don't say you weren't warned.

Now I must go jump up and down on Guy Kawasaki's floppies.