Certificate gift online shopping

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen. During a two-week online shopping odyssey in which I set out to buy 10 family gifts, I crossed just five off my list. I abandoned seven virtual shopping carts in the aisles, bid on the wrong gift--and won!--at an online auction, and lost a sibling in cyberspace's answer to a men's department. It took me longer to shop than if I'd simply gone from store to store, and I didn't save money. Yet, I avoided crowds and piped-in Christmas carols, shopped in my pj's, and had some fun playing with gee-whiz technology. Still, who knew the learning curve for a shopping spree could be so steep?

Apparently, I have plenty of company. If 1998 was hailed as the first E-Christmas, now cyberspace is becoming just another place to shop. Though representing only 5 percent of the season's estimated total retail revenue, online holiday sales are predicted to triple this year to $9.5 billion. That includes nearly 10 million E-tailing "newbies" like me (and Bill Clinton). Though capacity is expected to be better than last year, some biggies like eBay.com have already had technical troubles. "Real people and imperfect technology are about to collide," says Kelly Mooney of Resource Marketing.

No wonder I was vexed by the virtual mall. Thankfully, though, the more I surfed, the easier it got. As I hunted for presents, including a kitchen knife, a live dog, toys, and more, I found aspects of each experience to love and loathe. Here's what I bought--and the lessons I learned:

A knife for my sister. How complicated could it be to track down cutlery? Now I know. While most shoppers cite convenience as the reason they buy online, I quickly realized the Web works best if you know what you want--down to the brand, style, and model number. Equipped with only my oldest sister's request for "something smaller than a 'regular' chef's knife for chopping salad stuff," I spent six hours on the Internet trying to get what I'm sure I could have purchased in minutes up the street. While mySimon.com, a comparison shopping service, landed me on a cookware site with reasonable prices, the screen resolution was so poor that I couldn't tell one knife from another. Nor could I sense the knives' heft and balance. That's why, says Eugene Fram, a marketing professor at the Rochester Institute of Technology, "If you look at what's being purchased, for the most part, it's safe products."

I was about to head to a local kitchenware shop when a friend cautioned me against it. She invoked an ancient Talmudic injunction against raising a salesperson's hopes without intent to buy. I then conferred with my sister on the proper brand and length--so much for the surprise. Next, I E-mailed mySimon, asking where to find a "Henkel 6- inch chef's knife." A day later, I received word they couldn't help. OK, so I misspelled the name. It's "Henckels." Should that matter?

I was about ready to type in my credit card number, but williams- sonoma.com was unable to process my billing address at home along with my delivery address at work. I headed to cooking.com, where, miraculously, I completed my first E-transaction: a Henckels Four-Star 6-inch chef's knife. Total price, $91.10, including gift-wrapping and expedited shipping. The local Williams-Sonoma store carries a slightly different style for $59.20.

Looking for a steal on my mom's stole. For my second gift, I went to Yamunapashmina.com to buy my mom this season's must-have cashmere stole. I brazenly clicked on a black color swatch, instantly learned the size I wanted was in stock, and bought it. Yet the shawl arrived the next day looking decidedly less luxurious than some I'd seen elsewhere. Fortunately, online returns are becoming easier as E- merchants wise up. Yamuna had sent a return mailer and prepaid the shipping. I ditched the stole for a plush raspberry number from an oh- so-bricks-and-mortar boutique in New York. Total price of the original pashmina: $260. Replacement cost: $268, with shipping.

Baby-chic clothing for my niece. My only quibble with the pink chenille cardigan at Babygap.com was that at $14, overnight shipping cost half as much as the $28 sweater. The next day, the sweater had been reduced to $19.99. My neighborhood Gap Kids still had it for $28. Even with the online price cut, I lost out. Price: $35.14.

A pup for Pop. Yet the Web showed its stuff when I tried to locate a dog for my dad--a "spayed, house-broken, female Doberman pinscher, sweet with children, yet alert, and, of course, pedigreed," as he instructed me. Skeptical of finding such a canine in cyberspace, I turned to activebuyersguide.com. After I answered a few questions about the ideal E-pooch, it suggested a Great Dane. But the site could not divine that my mom prefers a dog that fits in a baguette purse, or no pet at all, and her vote counts. Activebuyers guide.com linked me to two Doberman rescue centers near my parents' home, where 5-year-old Angel seemed like the perfect pet. Sadly, I left her for another family to love.

To Pokemon-or not-for my nephew. Although my 8-year-old nephew asked for you-know-what, I had decided it's an aunt's prerogative to get through life Pokemon free. So it's a complete testament to my nephew's charm that I did two things I abhor: (1) buying Pokemon cards when I don't understand the appeal and (2) doing so at an online auction, the appeal of which also eludes me.

Once I had registered at Amazon.com's auction area, I lost no time scrolling to the "RARE Japanese Pokemon GYM 2 holofoil Gengar card MINT." I typed in my $10 bid; I clicked and then groaned, instantly recognizing that I had picked the wrong card. He wanted Fossil Gengar-- same character, different pack. Undoing the damage, however, proved much more difficult than my initial "score." While the site is clear about when you can retract a bid, my error didn't count. Tense minutes elapsed before I reached a human on the phone, who bought my good-aunt sob story and helped me click my way to freedom with instructions to apologize to the seller. I then raced to eToys.com, where I bought Upwords, a vertical version of Scrabble. Given my anti-Pokemon sentiments, I was happier. Price: $24.44 ($8.88 at Target). Yet the next morning, I was greeted by this E-mail: "Congratulations! We're delighted to tell you that you are the winning bidder." According to Amazon, the Pokemon auction had ended before I canceled my bid. I was stuck. My unsolicited E-lesson: $8.95.

An outfit for my brother-in-law. Landsend.com's Shop With a Friend software seemed tailor-made for my difficult-to-buy-for brother-in-law. So I made an E-tail date with my sister, who lives several states away. It works like this: Your shopping buddy clicks on an item, and the same product also shows up on your screen. But between our ineptitude and glitches in the system, we had to quit after we had used up more than an hour on her cellular phone. Next, I shopped with the vice president of E-commerce at Lands' End. He "pointed" to a women's red cashmere sweater; I, to a cashmere tunic. The connection faltered. Alas. "The one thing about a catalog is the words are always on the page," acknowledges Bill Bass at Lands' End. Forget clothes. I decided my brother-in-law needs a second phone line. Price: $100.

The perfect something for another sister. In virtual desperation, I headed for Della.com, the bridal gift registry that has a personal shopping service for all occasions. Unlike similar sites where you choose from preselected descriptions, like "romantic" or "homebody," I got to describe my sister, typing: "She loves fashion and housewares. She's spontaneous and likes to be pampered." A day later, Della E- mailed three suggestions, with links to each site: a gift certificate to SpaWish.com, which includes more than 700 salons and day spas, though nary a one near Sis; a cashmere T-shirt from Banana Republic.com for $98 that just didn't seem special; and a Belgian waffle iron from williams-sonoma.com for $80. How could they know I've never seen her make breakfast? If only Brookstone.com had worked when I tried it on two different computers, I wouldn't have had to call for a "temper-pedic" pillow that uses body heat to mold into shape. Price: $99, plus $7.95 shipping.

Besides situations in which you know just what you want, the Web is well suited to checking off gifts that require no emotional investment. What I craved, though, was the satisfaction I get when I stumble on a gift that's sure to please someone I hold dear. I spent $49.92 more than I would have otherwise, but I avoided the big dangers that shopping online can pose. Yet I must run now. I still have five gifts left to buy, and I need to head to eBay to unload that Pokemon card.