For the gazillionth time, I am locked out of my own computer because it didn’t like my password.
No matter what you want to do these days, you need a password. Want to buy a hat? Read the news? Pay a bill? First you must answer a riddle: “What is your password?”
It’s as if we all lived in some Double 007 world, where everyone’s either a spy or a secret agent. The trouble is we aren’t all good spy or secret agent material.
Everyone is happy to tell you what you need for a good password:
It must have 6 or 8 or maybe 12 characters…
In a random combination of letters, numbers and symbols…
Both upper and lower case…
But in no predictable pattern.
And, of course, you can’t use the same one more than once, because only a fool would do that.
“Yes, a fool who wanted a fighting chance to read her own email!”
In short, if you can remember your password, it’s not good enough.
Every time I try to remember one of mine, I feel like I’m strapped to a board in a North Korean prison — being dunked:
“What is your VISA card password?”
“Ummm..”
“NO, that is not it! Try again!”
“Gluggg…”
“NO, again you have failed! Now tell us: what is your User ID?”
Because of course, you need one of those, too, whatever they are. So now there’s a second meaningless string of stuff to remember.
And there is apparently nothing too trivial for password protection. I was trying to use a coupon the other day, but as part of the process, I had to give them my club member ID. Which I had to get from their website. Which I couldn’t get into because, according to the little red letters, “That email address is already registered.”
“Yes, you dummies to me — now let me in!”
Most important of all: Neither your password nor your ID can be a real word.
You certainly can’t use anything meaningful, like SnuggleBunny.
I am sure that the IT folks have a fine time laughing at us about this. Secure in their electronic hide-outs, they watch me type:
“Check this one out: She’s using SnuggleBunny.”
“Yeah, that’s even dumber than her last one. What was it, again?”
“MuffinTop.”
“And to think we get paid for this job.”
Of course, you must never write them down anywhere —certainly not on the inside of your pencil drawer — because that’s just asking for trouble.
Then again, what busy, self-respecting burglar is going to pause in his pursuits, lugging his pillowcase full of jewelry, silverware, and flat screen TV out the door, to say, “Oh, wait; I wonder what her passwords are? Here they are, written in her desk drawer. Good girl…I mean, ‘MuffinTop’!” And he’ll chortle as he stuffs the desk drawer into the bag.
No, the only risk here is me going into default on my bills because I can’t remember the password for paying them.
Because the banking websites are the worst — protected by layer upon layer of vicious, snarling Security Questions. You’re supposed to pick the ones that work for you …except none of them do.
“Enter your Birthdate.” What, my real one? So that anyone who finds me on Facebook can hack into my computer files?
“Mother’s Maiden Name.” How many shows have you seen where they hacked into someone’s computer just from knowing a relative’s name? All of them, that’s how many – except for the ones that used birthdates.
“Birthplace:” I tried to enter this, but the computer told me I was wrong. “Were you there?” I wanted to ask it, but maybe it was.
Favorite color? I can never decide.
Name of childhood pet: This is a problem, because we were never allowed to have pets. If only I’d known, I could have told my parents I would need one someday for bank security questions. Alas, I must settle for the guppies that never lasted a week. But what, oh what did I call them? “Guppie”? Nope. “Fishie”? Nope! Oh, “Goldie”? Aargh! Three strikes, I’m locked out.
If only someone would invent a synthetic memory – one that could store and recall all this information perfectly, and never fade, and never let me down. It could hold all my passwords, and user IDs, and remember which favorite color I’d told which bank and everything.
Except they’ve already done that. It’s called “a computer,” and I can’t get into mine because I can’t remember its password!
