You're sitting outside on a mild summer night when you hear your wife scream from the kitchen. Either a spider riding a rat just ambled across the table, or she's trying to sign up Daughter for soccer on the city park system's website. Assuming the latter, you head inside to help.
This! Thing! It! Won't — Augh! It sends me here! I go there! It sends me back! It …"
There there, you say. I'll take a look at it tomorrow.
So the next day you call up the page to register. The first search box is called "WHAT," because apparently it was programmed by an annoyed teen. It asks for a keyword; you put in SOCCER, which should narrow it down, unless the software reads that as "any activity involving a spherical object, including astronomy, which includes the moon." But so far so good.
There's an option for "exact match." You're hard-pressed to think of a situation where I wouldn't want a search for SOCCER to yield results that have to do with, you know, soccer, but maybe they also have a Zacher league or a Sochor team.
The next field: "NUMBER." You have no idea what this means. Team number? Shoe size? Pi? The Powerball? Then it's "Activity Category," which includes "Computers and Technology" and "Life Skills." Yes, I want to search for a league devoted to Soccer Technology.
Next: "DEPARTMENT." This calls up a list of parks. Remember when you were a kid and your mom said, "It's a beautiful day — let's go to the Department!" Right. Then it's "Search Level," which is the sort of thing only a programmer could love. The options:
Activities Only / Sub-activities / Activities and Sub-activities