Let’s talk passwords. How many do you have?
They’re supposed to be very private, stored in our brain’s deepest file cabinet, safe from Snidely Whiplash and his identity stealing gang. But here’s the problem: we can’t have just one. We must have lots. And lots. And we’re supposed to change them every few months, so we stay ahead of the evil forces.
And we’re not, as I’ve had to do, supposed to actually write them down. That defeats the purpose. But I have to wonder what good does it do to have something so secret you don’t know what it is?
I have four pages of passwords, and I won’t tell you where those four pages are, but I know. (I tried using a “mental” file cabinet, but the drawers don’t close all the way and the lock is rusted.) So I can’t store anything in my mind anymore except the name of my dog’s vet and which crafts fair had the best cookies last year.
Don’t get me wrong, I heartily recommend being smart about your identity. I’ve been through the whole “guess who stole your account number” journey and it is a true nightmare that can last for years. It just shouldn’t be so much work to keep sticky fingers at a distance.
If your passwords are written down, just be smart about where you stash that document. Home offices (Bermuda triangles) are a great place to store (lose) any document that matters. Chances are you’ll never find the document again, but then neither will an intruder. Feeling safer already?
Of course, every once in a while you’ll want to change your password document to reflect the 236 new passwords you’ve accumulated in just the last month. Now you have the added dilemma of needing to shred the old document. Plus, don’t forget that if this information is stored on your computer, you must be tricky and name it something no one would quickly recognize as a file of passwords. Good luck remembering what you named it the next time you are looking for it.
I don’t remember my parents going through this.
Of course, they didn’t have computers, security systems, garage door keypads, Facebook accounts, ATMs, cable television, keyless cars, or cell phones. Their refrigerator didn’t talk to them. And they—we—also didn’t have a remote control anything. We actually got up and walked across the room to change the channel. (I think I just heard a child faint.) I remember when my father won our first color television because he set a sales record with his company. It was boxy, ugly and strange-looking. But the cartoons were beautiful. Funny, I had never even thought about the fact we watched black-and-white television. I would have sworn to you it was all in color.
Back then, password was a game. Secret words were what Groucho tried to get you to guess. You got the yo yo? I’ve got the string. (One of my favorite Rowan and Martin routines, uttered under a streetlight on a dark corner. While wearing trench coats, no less.)
Things were just simpler in so many ways. Are they easier now? Yes…if you know the password.
“You can’t come in here unless you say swordfish. I’ll give you one more guess.”
Professor Quincy Adams Wagstaff (aka Groucho Marx), Horse Feathers
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