This was the second time I had problems with my Oyster card. I paid for it on the internet, but somehow that information couldn’t get through to the card itself. Which meant I couldn’t get through the gates of the underground. So I went to the information desk (I am a regular customer there). And the queue was long, and I was going to be aggressively late for work. Again.
When I finally stood in front of the small glass window (no voiciliciousness this time either) I explained the problem. He did something with his computer.
“I need your password” he said.
“Right” I said. This had to come one day, and today was obviously that day.
My password is of course one of the most ridiculous words ever invented to spell. And how pathetic to pick that as a password.
But there was no way around it.
“xxxxSlartibartfastxxxx” (the x’s being other characters which I am not going to reveal, unless you are voicilicious, or take me for a tea in The Cafe) I whispered to him, as the last thing I wanted was anybody in the queue right behind me hearing it. It was bad enough I had to tell him.
He looked at me.
“Say What ??” he said loudly.
And I said it again, slightly louder.
And he looked puzzled, and the queue behind me looked annoyed as this was taking time.
“Can you spell that ?” he said.
And I knew this was going to be a long day.
I spelled it, it took ages on this noisy underground station. He looked at me as if I was some kind of deranged person, picking a password like this.
Well to keep it short, he couldn’t help me, there was an error in the system. I had to buy a day pass, fill in another form to claim my money back (which takes 8 weeks), and hope and pray that it will work tomorrow. This was close to pissing me off, but the fact that I am currently reading The Salmon of Doubt, by Douglas Adams (who, together with Bill, is to blame for this whole embarrassing password thing) got me through that. I hopped on a later Caterham train, missed him, miss him too but despite that, a big smile on my face, because it is such a funny book.
And now I am really going to join ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha. I might as well go all the way.
Sounds like a pretty secure password. Er, well it was until you told the LT guy. My high security passwords are always first letters from sentences, usually quotes from Monty Python.
Like a lady at the cashregister once said: It’s not your day luv.