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Janet Gifford

The Password Problem


I ran across this blackboard message today and had a good laugh.


Not only do I remember my growing up home phone number (JA54585), I remember my best friends' numbers, my grandparents' phone number (AT22512), and the number for my Dad's medical clinic.


I remember my first 'grownup' landline number, and the number for the neighbors who constantly left their phone off the hook - messing up the entire party-line. (Um, yes, I'm that old and I lived in a rural area of Idaho.)


But can I remember a password? Nope. Not even one I JUST set up. Which is why this blackboard humor caught my attention and made me laugh.


This morning I added a new, needed, business app to my phone, while sitting in the lobby area of our local Audi service center. I carefully noted my username and password in my head. Then, because I KNOW I have this problem, I opened up my secure (I think?) thing-a-ma-jig that currently has 147 different websites or apps that require a username and password.


And then ... yep ... I sat there trying to remember which combination of password letters and characters I used. Was the @ at the front? Did I use an ! at the end? Which letter did I capitalize? Wait. Which numbers did I use? WHY didn't I find a pen in my purse and write it down??


Sigh.


(SIDE NOTE: Trying to keep my sites secure, I use one variation of passwords for financial sites. I use other variations of a different password for other kinds of things. I even have some old passwords that probably predate me having kids. Seriously. I just looked it up: the first computer passwords were suggested in the 1960's.)


It gets even more complicated. Like today. Once I'd set up the new app, I received a notice that I'd be getting a text message with a verification code. Okay, I think. I'm good with numbers. But this time the verification code had LETTERS too. Something like BV3u78Q. Oh, and I had 2 minutes to use this verification code or I'd have to start over. Or maybe my phone would blow up. I'm not sure which.

Sigh.

John and I laugh about it all the time. I'll say: What's the password for XYZ, and he'll respond: Give me a second to look it up. Then I'll say: Is the S capitalized? And he'll say: No. Oh. Wait. I'll have to look again. And then as he spells it, I type it, while also saying it out loud back to him. Which often results in us talking louder to each other, thinking that with additional volume we'll somehow have a successful outcome.


I know I'm not alone in this; my friends and I have a lot of good laughs about how passwords are taking up the little bit of brain space we have left. But they're stuck somewhere deeeeeep inside. Access is denied on a daily basis.


ALL of us, of a certain age, find ourselves forgetting all sorts of things. Like names. Movie Titles. The author of the book we're currently reading. The word for the gizmo in the kitchen drawer that we need. (It's called a wine bottle opener, but wine thingy works, too.)


And PASSWORDS.


I'm embarrassed to say I used to roll my eyes when my folks were at this place in their lives, thinking they were just - well - OLD. I regret that now.


Because Karma's come a'calling. And she's not playing nice at all.





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