Codes, codes, and more codes -- I’m fed up! Get into your house? You need The Code. Need more money? You must know The Code. Surf the net? You’d better know The Code. And worst of all, you’d better remember which Code it is you need to know.
This week I had an experience I knew was bound to happen at some point. It reminded me of the old Dudley Moore movie, Arthur, in which a man gets shut entirely out of the life he knows. I’ve been considering what life will be like in a few years, and it’s becoming a scary proposition.
Anyway, I went to pick up my car from the shop, where I left it to have the brakes replaced. As I was pulling out of the lot, I flipped on the radio, as is my habit, and noticed something happening: nothing. I looked down at the radio, perplexed, and saw the word “CODE” flash across the screen. Having no clue what it meant, I called the garage as soon as I made it home.
“Well, when we unhooked the battery, it disconnected the radio,” they told me. “Just punch in your code and the radio will reset.”
What code?
That’s when I heard the words I always feared from the other end: “You don’t know the code?”
Apparently, I have a theft-deterrent radio, which means the device can’t be used once it’s been detached from my vehicle, unless the detacher knows its pass code.
So, what can I do to make it believe it’s safe and sound in my car?
The radio has to be pulled out again, checked for a serial number, and reported back to Acura so that they can provide me the missing code. Oh, and it’ll cost me $100.
So I drove around a few days, trying in vain to guess the code myself – pushing random numbers at stoplights, intent on cracking the code.
You guessed it: I’m no master code cracker and, $100 later, the radio is working, no thanks to me, and I have some good advice to keep in mind: put the code in a safe place.
A few days later, I was at an ATM machine, spacing out, when I punched in the wrong code a few times. Before I knew it, my card wasn’t coming back – and I thought I heard some shredding sounds inside the machine. Apparently, I had experienced yet another safety feature meant to deter theft.
In order to get a new card sent, I had to answer more questions than a contestant on Jeopardy. Over the phone, I was given a few stumpers which actually turned out to be a good test for me.
Wife’s mother’s maiden name? Wife’s birthdate? That one actually helped a lot – who thought forgetting a code would actually be a good reminder about an upcoming birthday? When I asked for a reminder call next year -- same time, same bank -- they didn’t seem too pleased with me, and ended the call with more sage advice: keep your code in a safe place.
Internet codes amaze me the most. What’s the deal? After filling out an endless stream of paperwork to access a site, it’s finally time to create a username and password. By this point, I’m so exasperated I make one up that’s beyond crazy.
Then comes the shocker: it’s taken.
I sometimes wonder who, besides me, would create such an utterly ridiculous combination of username and password? Do I have a long-lost twin my parents never told me about?
Let me also be the first to warn you against using your pets’ names as a code. I had a friend who used to get weepy every time she went to the ATM machine because her code, “TIGER,” reminded her of her pet’s untimely death. Who’d have thought going to the bank would hurt more than just your pocketbook?
From what I hear, it’s easy for criminals to easily obtain our codes, so I’ll probably be the first guy who drives into a bad neighborhood, looking for trouble, just to see if some criminal can help me figure out my forgotten code.
If you’re looking to get involved in a great business, I suggest code-hacking. I’m sure they’ll soon become a legitimate and lucrative service. Advanced degrees in Code Cracking will be held in high esteem by tomorrow’s society.
I can hear people talking already… “Steven just got his doctorate in Hacking from Harvard! He’s doing his residency at Fort Knox! Amazing!”
I’m thinking about closing all my accounts and just burying my money in the backyard, like in the good old days. With my luck, though, I’d probably forget where I buried it, and realize maybe codes aren’t my problem, after all…
