I don't know why Ruth hesitates to call her Dad a Luddite. When we moved from Texas after 11 years in NY City, we had not used a bank drive-thru in all that time. The first time we attempted it here in Texas, a long line of cars formed behind us while he tried to figure out (1) where they kept the canister you put your check and deposit slip in (2) how to open the @&#$! thing (3) how to send it to the teller, and (4) were we supposed to hang around and wait for it to come back, or what? While we were dithering over this, we didn't realize there was an intercom at our position, which was open to all the fuming and cussing going on, until we heard a sweet voice inquire, "May I HEP you, sir?" To which he replied, his voice cracking a little: "I just want my THING!" At that point I heard giggling coming out of intercoms in every lane and saw drivers' heads swivelling in our direction. At that point the canister plopped back in place and we snatched up our receipt and zoomed out of there. We have not attempted to use the drive-thru since then.