Honey, We’re Running Low On Tinfoil

I’m not very conspiracy-minded, but today I had a somewhat cloak & dagger thought.

The older I get, the less I can rely on my memory, and my memory is taxed frequently by passwords. I have so many, I have to keep track of them in a little pocket notebook and a few other hiding places. And I create good passwords. No obvious personal info in any of mine — my passwords are as random and bizarre as could be imagined. And I change them frequently.

After morning prayers and lectio divina, I use a password to get into my laptop. Then I use a different password to access my email. Then I need another password to enter my blog. A password unlocks my phone, and if I need to update something or (rarely) install an app on the phone, another password is required.

When I get to work, a password lets me in. A password clocks me in. Another password fires up my computer. And we use five-count-em-five different software systems at my job, each requiring its own password. My phone at my desk has its own password, and if I change my message or modify anything to do with the phone, a separate password is required to do this.

And this doesn’t even begin to approach the different passwords for different places and things online. My password notebook is full. Full.

Now, then. At work today, I put the wrong password into a certain program. Got it wrong the second time. Third time, too, which locked me out of the system and necessitated a call to the administrator to get me unlocked. Then a little while later, I put the wrong password into a different program, but at least I had the good sense to stop and consult my notebook before burying myself in lock-out land.

And while all these words and symbols were whirling around in my tired brain, I had this thought:

If I were an evil being, bent on world domination and enslaving the human race, I would bide my time until their technology had them so dependent on so many security features for so many devices, and then I would play up how maddening and inconvenient it is to have to keep track of all the security measures, and then I would approach the unwashed masses with a generous offer, spoken in comforting, mellow tones like a cornet.

I would say to them, “Look. You need to be secure, but you have more important things to do with your gray matter than storing passwords. The sensible thing would be to have an identifying device — say a microchip, for example? — implanted in your body so that all of your devices would recognize you and you alone, and you would gain instant access while access would be flatly denied for anyone NOT you, and you would never have to memorize, write down, or change another password. Because I’m here to help you. I’m here to make your life easier. Would you like to sign up for my microchip today?”

And I believe many, many of them would sign up. And then my foot would be in the door. And I would be under their collective skin.

I like my notebook. I don’t want ultimate convenience. I don’t want to be helped.

Incidentally, did you know that if you cut a two or three-inch section of the serrated metal tearaway edge from a container of aluminum foil, you can easily secret it inside the waistband of your trousers, at the back, via a tiny slit, and if you’re ever handcuffed or tied, you can access the strip of serrated metal fairly easily — it’s a hacksaw! — and free yourself, provided you have enough time and solitude?

You’re welcome.

~ S.K. Orr