I’m a mild and lazy guy. That’s the only reason I haven’t been driven stark, raving mad by an evil cabal I am convinced is now running my life and has turned it into one big gaslight job.
There is no other explanation for the fact that every business, organization, outlet, entity, agency or group I must deal with requires me to have a username and a password that don’t work and must be changed every damn time I try to log in to one of their websites.
I envision shadowy figures in a small room ringed with screens that show me on my computer, attempting to pay a loan or trying to get the information I need to meet my obligations and stay out of either jail, or an institution.
“Look,” chortles the ringleader, “he’s banging his fist on the desk and cursing a blue streak because he can’t log in!”
“Let’s make sure his password doesn’t work!” a henchman chimes in.
“How about his username?” another one asks.
“We’ll force him to come up with a new one!” a lieutenant says gleefully.
“And that won’t work, either!” says a fellow fiend.
“Brilliant!” they all agree.
“And when he calls for assistance,” the ringleader sneers, “he’ll be put on hold for an eternity. Ha ha ha ha ha!”
It just so happens that I did call for assistance recently after being rebuffed in my several maddening attempts to log in to a website so I could find out when the next loan payment is due and whether I could get an extension.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” a very nice customer care representative named Darlene said when I finally got through. “More than likely, you tried to log in to the old website.”
“Is there a new website?” I wondered.
“We have old and new systems in place,” Darlene answered. “I know it’s a big headache.”
“At this point,” I said, “the ache is in a lower portion of my anatomy.”
Darlene chuckled and said, “I hear you.” Then she added, “Go to the new website and log in.”
“My username doesn’t work,” I said when I tried. “I got a new username last week after being told that the one I had before was no good.”
“What happened?” Darlene asked.
“The new username did, indeed, work,” I said. “But when I went back on the website, it didn’t work anymore. So I had to use the old one.”
“Did it work?” Darlene inquired.
“Yes,” I said. “But it doesn’t work now.”
“What do you see on your screen?” Darlene asked.
“It says, ‘We’re sorry. We can’t find the User ID and Password combination you entered. Remember, your Password is case sensitive. Please go to Forgot User ID or Forgot Password, or try to log in again,’ ” I told her.
Darlene said I should use the new-old username. Or the old-new one. By that time, I was totally confused. But at least it worked. Unfortunately, what I thought was my password didn’t. So Darlene texted me a new, temporary password that looked like the electron configuration for boron.
“You can change it to whatever you want,” she said. “But don’t use your previous password.”
“I can’t remember what the hell it was anyway,” I confessed.
I chose a password that was no good because it wasn’t alphameric, a term that encompasses letters and numerals but not certain symbols. I was disappointed since I would have chosen a raised-finger emoji.
So I picked an acceptable password and, utilizing my sophisticated filing system, wrote it down on a Post-it Note.
I ignored a box that allowed me to write a password hint because, after suggesting one to Darlene, she said, “I don’t think you can use swear words.”
“Have you helped other people who’ve had these problems?” I asked.
“All the time,” said Darlene.
“Has it ever happened to you?” I asked.
“Not at this company,” Darlene replied. “But it’s happened with other institutions.”
“At this rate, I’ll end up in an institution,” I said. “The only way out is if I forget my password.”
Jerry Zezima writes a humor column for Tribune News Service and is the author of six books. His latest is “One for the Ageless: How to Stay Young and Immature Even If You’re Really Old.” Reach him at [email protected] or via jerryzezima.blogspot.com.
