When I was a kid, there was no worse errand to be dragged on than going to the bank. The grocery store had colorful cereal boxes to ogle. The owner of the liquor store gave out lollipops. The bank…the bank had a pen on a chain. But since many personal finance tasks of the time needed to be transacted in person, stops at KeyBank on Highbridge Road were part of the drill. So, as you can imagine, when I witnessed my parents retrieve money out of an ATM machine for the first time, it was nothing short of a miracle. To avoid the queue of velvet ropes and have crisp $20 bills instantly doled out was like something out of Tomorrowland.
My sisters and I relished the chance to operate the ATM machine for our parents. (What can I say–we were hard up for electronics and without an Atari.) This was probably my first experience with a password. Standing inside a bank vestibule with my dad, entering a combination of letters and numbers was like uttering the magic words–and Voila! Money would appear! Even though the bills were going inside my dad’s wallet, I commanded such power with that password.
Oh, how times have changed. It is now the passwords that hold the power. Everything in our lives is password protected for our safety. My phone needs to be unlocked, so does my computer. By rough count, there’s a half dozen logins and passwords needed for the various systems I use in the course of a real estate day. To run payroll? I need my login/password, followed by an authentication send to my phone, and then a series of security questions to which I frequently forget the answers. It feels a lot like the three tasks Indiana Jones had to complete in The Last Crusade.
And it’s everywhere. Every single website or web based application needs to verify that I am who I say I am. I get it that GrubHub has my address and credit card information saved, but by the time I recover my login and password, I feel like I could have been halfway to Luna Grill. I appreciate the technological advances in the password-protected world, and I understand it’s the price we pay for convenience. Hey, I love being able to operate my lawn sprinklers from my phone just as much as the next guy, but is there really a criminal hacker in cyberspace with the time and inclination to change my irrigation schedule?
One my favorite password experiences involves the cable company. Remarkably, they still have a help line that is answered by a human being who can help you change service or inquire about a bill. In order to access your records, there’s a four digit PIN, which I established years ago and failed to commit to memory. So, whenever I call, I’ve get stuck in this Groundhog Day nightmare:
Them: Thank you for calling Mr. Matsumoto, we do appreciate you being a loyal customer. What can I do for you today?
Me: I’d like to increase our Internet speed.
Them: Well, certainly Mr. Matsumoto–I’d be happy to help you with that. Do you happen to have your four digit call in PIN?
Me: I do not.
Them: That’s ok. Would you like change that PIN?
Me: That would be very helpful.
Them: Alright Mr. Matsumoto. In order to change your PIN, I’m just going to need your four digit call in PIN.
Hangs up phone.
I have a bullpen of favorite passwords I use, but with the different requirements at different sites, it’s hard to keep them all straight. I feel like Abe Simpson describing my tech problems, but certainly I can’t be the only one? This one needs a capital letter. This one needs one special character. This one can contain no special characters. It makes me think about what ancient Egyptian password requirements would be like. “Welcome to the Library of Alexandria online system; your hieroglyphic password must contain at least one bird and no scarabs.” I suppose I could invest in a password manager, which apparently not only holds passwords, but helps you generate strong passwords. Is this really needed? Somehow using a password generator to create and save “zebueq-hoxheJ-syhra8” seems silly. And isn’t buying a password manager a little bit like paying off the neighborhood mafia for “protection”–It’s a really nice store here, Mister. Sure would hate for some sort of accident to happen here.
The irony of all the passwords is that in an effort to confirm identity, no one actually knows who I am. I don’t have to go the bank so I don’t know my banker. The cable company only knows that I’ve paid my bill every month for twelve years. I’m guilty as charged with shopping on Amazon and not on Main Street. I just noticed downtown Vista has a vinyl record shop, but I haven’t ventured in to meet the kind owner. On some level we’ve traded personal attention for ease and convenience. To what end? Has all this automation streamlined our busy schedules and improved our quality of life? Of course not. I lament we haven’t realized the future from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure where “bowling averages are way up, mini-golf scores are way down.”
You know where you wouldn’t have needed a password? Bailey Brothers Building & Loan. George knew everyone in Bedford Falls and I’m sure if Yelp existed his community bank would have nothing but five star reviews. If modern banks had the same level of attention to detail and customer service, we probably could have avoided the Great Recession. It’s much easier to strategically default on a faceless corporation like Countrywide; everyone would have kept current on payments to George Bailey. How could you miss a payment if it means Janey and Zazu wouldn’t have new school clothes? You can call me regressive, idyllic, and naive, but I contend we would pass on automatic payments for a chance walk to Bailey Brothers to pay our mortgage. We’d probably be offered a slice of Mary’s home made pie. Banking with a heart–isn’t the pitch (albeit badly) Capital One Cafes are trying to make?
That’s what our cold, modern, automated society needs–a “It’s A Wonderful Life” level of compassion and connection. We’d all flock to the George Baileys of the world and their welcoming, face-to-face small businesses. Unfortunately, we might be living in an alternative history where the Mr. Potters of the world emerged victorious. The modern tyranny of passwords is decidedly not Capra-esque. We need Clarence Oddbody to come back and save all of us from jumping off the metaphorical bridge. Sadly, his wings are password protected and after three unsuccessful attempts he’s been locked out of the wing system for the next twenty-four hours.
