You don’t need to tell me why the password is so important. I get it. Speaking from someone who had her Facebook hacked recently, I understand that more than I understand why my nose is on my face (to hold up my reading glasses, of course).
By the way, if you haven’t had your Facebook account hacked you have not lived. The adrenaline rush from the moment you realize what has happened until that very last online account has been disabled, is so intense it should count as a ten mile run out of the Grand Canyon.
Alas, all it does is shave a few years off your life. That level of unfairness is equal to not being able to ride Magic Mountain at Disney World because you’re too short.
The other night we wanted to get into Apple TV. We’ve had Apple TV for a very long time and use it often. In this time of Quarantine Living there isn’t much else to do as I am sure you can attest to.
I couldn’t get in. Well, I did eventually but only after too many tries to count, a lot of cursing, and so much hair pulling I’m surprised I’m not as bald as a newborn baby’s ass.
How dare it tell me my password was incorrect.
It really set the mood for the rest of the evening. Actually, I’m still pissed about it and am in a bit of a standoff with Apple TV at the moment. Guns are drawn. I’ll let you know who wins (hint: it won’t be me).
I recently bought a new MacBook. With this MacBook, there is a feature that allows you to use your fingerprint to gain access into your accounts.
Except it seems it doesn’t always perform.
I tried to get into my WordPress account where I keep my blog. Except my fingerprint wouldn’t work. This was on the same day as the Apple TV debacle. You can imagine the bloodshed at my house. If motherboards and processors count as blood.
The fingerprint does not change. I may not have paid much attention in science class, but this I know.
I have been relying on the fact that my computer remembers my passwords for so long that I had completely forgotten what it was.
Here came the adrenaline rush again. At this point I should be primed to be a contestant on American Ninja Warrior. Instead I’m afraid I’ll be hitting a ripe old age sooner than I want to. At the rate it’s going, that will be next Tuesday.
The worst is when you take a few days off from work. When you return, the screen stares at you, begging for the password. The only problem is, you have turned your brain off for a few days and POOF! The part of your brain that holds your passwords has been disabled. Went on vacation to Tahiti. It’s just a shame it didn’t take you with it.
And even though your laptop says to “click here” for a password reset, it doesn’t work. You inevitably will need to call the Helpdesk and spend an hour trying to explain to the nice Helpdesk guy what it is you are trying to accomplish. More frustration will ensue. Your call will need to be escalated.
You sit without access to your work computer. You need to take another day off. Your brain falls deeper into the black hole of nothingness. Although from what I’ve gathered from HGTV, Tahiti is anything but nothingness.
Maybe I’m exaggerating just a bit, but you get my gist, right? Surely you can relate.
What kills me the most is when you FOR SURE have entered the correct password. You have it written down in your little notepad of passwords. This little notepad is your bible and it’s never wrong.
Yet, the account you are trying desperately to gain access to says otherwise.
Then you take a deep breath and attempt to reset your password. Again. The new password you use is the password you thought it was. Except you get an error that you can’t use an old password.
By now, the site you are trying to get into decides to lock you out.
This is when you incur some brain damage from all the head banging you begin to do.
Eh. You really didn’t need to get into your bank account anyway. There are more important things that need to get done besides being sure that check you wrote to Home Goods doesn’t bounce.
Like watching your favorite show through Apple TV.
Oh right. You can’t get in.
Mo