I am not going to lie, I am a bit forgetful. In fact this is not even the topic I set out to write about, but after several hours of brainstorming on the other topic I went to the fridge to suck back some pineapple juice and totally forgot the purpose of this column.
It may have been about anniversaries.
Nope, no that was something else I was supposed to remember from a few of weeks ago.
Phone numbers, dates, and addresses forget it. I am not going to be showing up at your party, I have probably already forgotten the address you had me write down.
Okay fine, you got me, I didn’t write it down, are you kidding me? The amount of time it takes to find a pen with ink, not worth it. Besides even if I remembered the address do you really think I will remember what it relates to?
The problem is the world is becoming less and less forgiving of the forgetful. It seems like these days every time I click my mouse I am being bombarded with a request for five separate passwords, two security authorizations and my favorite childhood pet’s name or I will be hauled away on charges of identity theft.
Could we take it easy with the passwords? I mean just a little? If I want to read a newspaper article online, for free, do I really need a username and password? Am I really worried about Billy from Chesapeake, Virginia stealing my identity to read about a farm worker who was attacked by a herd of pigs? No, but if he did he would find the story is not as amusing as he had been led to believe by the headline and he probably should have been focusing on the column he was due to finish.
Right, where was I.
I am not going to remember your passwords websites, I am just not. So stop asking me to set them up. In Junior High well most kids were worrying about memorizing the periodic table I was trying to figure out whether I had to turn the lock on my locker once or twice. If I can go two weeks without accessing my coat do you really think my password reminder phrase is going to speed this process along?
But your websites care, in fact they care so much they keep adding more and more security features for me to bungle my way through.
Passwords must now be made up of three lower cases letters, two upper case, four numbers, but not four numbers that can be added together to make an even number, oh and two of those lower case letters must be consonants, so long as they are not touching an uppercase vowel. Symbols are not acceptable.
Once through the password phase my bank would like me to list such tidbits as my top three favorite books, my favorite high school teacher, and whether or not I enjoy a juicy avocado. Upon entering this personal verification data the computer informed me that I am incorrect, that who I had believed to be my favorite high school teacher is not in fact the case. For the past few years the computer informed me, I had been lying to myself.
I try entering another name.
The computer will have none of this. Bold red letters have now filled my screen informing me that if I ever wish to view my money again I will now have to call a 1-800 number.
Sheepishly I call the number.
“I’ve been looked out of my online banking,” I say.
“Alright Mr. Robertson, could you tell me what your last three purchases were?”
“Uh, no… no I don’t think I can”
“What about your special four letter identity code should you be unintentionally locked out of the mainframe?”
“I’m sorry, was I drafted to the CIA and forgot about it?” I ask.
The man informs me I will have to walk down to my bank branch in person to sort this out. And so I strap on my shoes and head down to that building attached to the ATM.
“Good to see you again Mr. Robertson, let me guess, locked out of your online banking?” the teller says warmly.
“Afraid so,” I mumble. The teller types some things into her computer.
“Alright just enter your new password here sir,” she says, handing me a keypad. I do as told, trying to remember what a consonant is.
“Going to remember it this time Mr. Robertson?”
“I’ve got this one right here Rose,” I reply tapping the top of my head.
“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Robertson,” she says with a sigh.
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