I’ve always considered myself semi-computer literate. I own an iPad, a laptop and an iPhone 6. I text, download, Google, share docs and listen to podcasts, and I am on a first-name basis with Siri. I can FaceTime my grandchildren and maneuver through Excel. I am not on the cutting edge, but I’ve been able to stay close to the pack.

However, I am not often surprised by the next skill that I must acquire to avoid seeming like a dinosaur. Last evening was one of those times.

My husband and I went to a movie and dinner with some good friends. We were just finishing up when the hostess arrived at our table, hugging a white iPad.

She quickly began to read off what we had ordered, then informed us that the total bill was $198.50. “How would you like to pay?” she asked.

The other couple and I looked at each other and responded after a bit of a silence. “Hmm, OK, how about splitting it on the two cards?” hesitantly pulled out of our wallets.

“Great,” she replied. “And the tip?”

“OK, what did you say the total was again?” we asked her. She repeated it quickly.

“Twenty percent,” my dinner companion replied as our hostess swiped the cards and handed me the screen to sign.

As she handed it across the table, I accidentally hit the screen button, which immediately returned the iPad to the home page. “Sorry,” I said, handing it back to her. She then patiently explained how I shouldn’t touch the button on the side as it would close out the screen. I could tell she assumed that anyone over 60 wouldn’t know that.

Finally, she asked if I’d like my receipt sent to my email. Again, I let the silence linger, thinking: Was I the only one getting the receipt? Did our dinner companions want a receipt, too? Did I want to be bothered repeating my email aloud in a crowded restaurant?

Well, that thinking must have taken too long, because she repeated the question, this time adding, “Do you have an email?”

I am for using technology to make the work easier for all. But when did paying a bill become so stressful?

What happened to the private conversation about the bill at the table – “Let me get it this time; you got it the last time” – which is comfortable among good friends, but not under the watchful and rushed eye of the restaurant staff?

When did we lose the right to leave the bill on the table for a few minutes while we lingered over our wine and coffee? And more importantly, how did I lose my dignity by just eating pasta? I wanted to shout, “I know how to do this … I just chose not to!”

The upscale restaurant saved itself from having to deal with a small slip of paper. But the awkwardness and the feeling of turning a quiet, enjoyable dinner into a fast-food swipe make me not want to return. Well, if I practice signing my name with my finger over my cheesecake, I might go back. The ravioli was really good.