My Dearly Beloved and I have stopped worrying when we occasionally wander into the mysterious haze of Senior Moment-dom these days. We’ve spent enough time there that we’ve convinced ourselves we’ll find our way out eventually.
For instance, DB went to brush his teeth one morning this week and found that he had put his electric toothbrush in a drawer the night before and “charged” his toothpaste on the stand overnight.
He’s thinks he may try it again sometime. Maybe it gave the toothpaste some added “oomph” to prevent cavities.
My forays down the rabbit hole usually involve either car keys or passwords. I can’t keep track of either. I understand the logic of having car keys, but personally, I think passwords should be optional, like sunscreen or dental floss. Even if it’s stupid not to use them, they’re optional. I’ll take dental floss and sunscreen any day over so many passwords. They’re even more obnoxious than those plastic cards every Tom’s, Dick’s, and Harry’s want you to stuff in your handbag in order to receive their sale prices.
I don’t mind a few significant passwords, but why do I need a password to add a Diet Coke purchase code number to My Coke Rewards? Two years of points and I may have enough to redeem for a Fandango ticket. Or to browse Joss & Main? Now I even need one to sign up for my neighborhood newsletter.
That last one has been a problem. The neighborhood homeowners association has set up a new system which necessitates the password. I’ve had a password for the site for some time because I have been asked to write something on it a time or two. That password doesn’t work on the new setup. In fact, I think it’s what is keeping me from being able to sign up for the newsletter.
Wednesday evening, I set about to fix it.
Here’s the scenario: I’m changing all the names, but pretend that the name of our neighborhood is Park Place and the website is PPHA–Park Place Homeowners Association. When the site was originally set up, it was done so as PPHA.com instead of PPHA.org. It’s non-profit, so I’m not sure why and don’t really care.
I googled PPHA and a screen popped up asking me to sign in. I tried what I thought was my user name and password, but they didn’t work. The site did, however, throw me a bone: Forget Your Password?
Heck yeah, I reckon I did, so I checked that box and it promised–and delivered– a temporary password. Hot dang! Now I was getting somewhere. What had my problem had been before? I could log in now and change it to something easy instead of the gobbledygook of numbers and letters it had provided.
So. . . I opened a new tab, keyed in PPHA.com and supplied my user name and new password. It pretended not to know me once, twice. . . eventually snubbing me three times. What th’ heck?
I went back to the first screen to make sure I’d copied the number correctly. Yup. There I was, my personhood still acknowledged.
I looked more closely. Um. . . that password had not been sent to me by PPHA.com, our homeowners association. Nope. My temporary password had been generously provided by the Pennsylvania Pharmacists Association–PPHA.org.
They’ll probably be sending me a request to pay my dues any day now.
“User” is the word used by the computer professional when they mean “idiot.”
– Dave Barry