Recently, I tried to work the ice dispenser on a friend’s refrigerator. Since my ancient refrigerator hasn’t dispensed ice since the early 2000’s, I’ve mastered a far simpler system—open freezer, grab ice, close freezer. This system has worked quite well for me, unless my hands are slightly damp. Then the cubes cling to me like that poor kid who licked the metal flagpole in “A Christmas Story.” And just for the record, my hands are usually clean.

So, when I stood before the modern refrigerator and stared at the keypad for ice dispensing, I felt like I had entered the Twilight Zone. Not wanting to appear totally obsolete and ignorant, I looked at the icons and the words like “Ice, Water, Crushed, and Cubed.” Okay, seemed straightforward enough. Surely, I could figure this out. So, I pressed “Cubed.” Nothing. Suddenly, the fridge acted like I had entered the wrong password three times and locked me out.

Apparently, many of these modern fridge keypads go into “sleep mode,” which is a polite way of saying they are ignoring you. Somewhere on that keypad is a tiny lock icon, silently judging you. To unlock it, you apparently have to press and hold the lock button for 3-5 seconds and wait for a beep. But if you press too gently, nothing happens. If you press too quickly, nothing happens. Too confidently. Still nothing. Meanwhile, I stood there, wondering why simply receiving ice from a dispenser was so complicated, and hoped nobody was watching.

Then, as if the lock isn’t challenging enough, some keypads have buttons that look like they should do something important, but don’t actually do so—like the “Ice Off,” which is nothing more than a sabotage button, meaning the fridge has essentially taken a personal vow against ice production. Why would an ice dispenser, whose sole purpose is to dispense ice, have a button refusing to do so? (Don’t answer that. I’m not smart enough to understand the logic.) It may be disguised as a “Control Lock,” also known as a child lock. But let’s be honest: that button locks everyone out and makes grown-ups question their competence as adults.

“Filter Reset” tells me nothing and is a button I’m too afraid to push for fear of what irreversible consequences I might unleash. How about the “Light” button, which allows me to see the ice I’m not getting?

By now, I was poking the control panel like an angry vending machine customer who had just lost her money and received no M and M’s. When that didn’t work, I resorted to pressing buttons slowly and deliberately like I was entering a vault code in a heist movie. At this point, it felt less like getting ice and more like negotiating with a stubborn appliance that had the upper hand.

By now, I was starting to miss those old ice trays. You know—the ones you have to twist with just enough force to release the cubes without snapping the tray in half. Some of you who are more mature may even remember the old metal lever trays that required the strength of two men and a boy to maneuver. Of course, the trays didn’t work perfectly either. There was always the one cube that refused to budge and clung to the tray out of sheer spite. Two others would always leap out dramatically, skid across the counter, and onto the floor. And somehow, you ended up slightly wet and annoyed. But you still got a glass filled with irregular, slightly frosted cubes earned through mild struggle and perseverance. No touchscreen. No keypad negotiations. No “Ice Off” betrayal.

Eventually, my friend walked in and asked if I needed help. I sheepishly admitted I couldn’t figure out the ice dispenser.

He paused, nodded thoughtfully, and said, “Yeah, me neither.”

Then he opened the freezer, reached in, pulled out a handful of ice, and dropped it in my cup. Problem solved.