Microwaves

What is it about trying to use someone elses microwave? I can drive a different car, assemble shelves out of a box, train a dog, figure out how to hook the game box, to the amplifyer, to the DVD, to the TV, I can change car batteries, and door knobs, and refinish a dresser.
But a microwave? Unless it's exactly like our microwave, which it never is, it's like a mystical box, trained only to function at the touch of it's master.
If I can even manage to get it open, what?! Sometimes the handle is hidden, or there is no handle but some fancy ass button to push! Once I have entrusted my beloved dish into the gapping mouth of this bias device, I poke tentatively at a few buttons, it beeps in response. I raise an eyebrow, and push cancel... again. Power level, quick defrost, (why wouldn't there only be quick defrost, forgo the alternative 'slow defrost') time cook, then there are pictures, of what? Is that a potatoe? Popcorn and pizza even!? Wait, two pictures, with dots beside it!
Beyond comprehension, hardly worth trying to figure out. Instead, I look sheepishly over at the smirking householder, pleading with my eyes that they rescue my cold meal. They input the magic combination, and the microwave whirs away obediently.
BUT, THEY ARE NOT SUPRISED! Not because I can't figure it out, but because microwaves in another house are nearly impossible for most of us!