|This is me at my actual pc. So old it works in runes.|
Every month I pay my credit card bill and the event goes like this: Find credit card bill (hopefully within a few days of it needing to be paid) log in. Pray to God that my computer remembers all the log in details, otherwise I need to go upstairs to my office and rootle through all my credit card statements until I find the ONE with the cryptically inscribed password/login details.
How cryptic are they? Well, put it this way - I usually have to e-mail Tartarus to be assisted in what my cryptic clues might be - For example DOB 4 and 5. Obviously DOB is date of birth, but whose? And what in the hell is 4 and 5? Neither of us has a clue what I meant, so we had to go through the palaver of changing the whole set up. Now we can't remember what the new password is, but still have a clear record of DOB 4 and 5.....
Anyway, I eventually will find the login details for my credit card and dutifully fill in the boxes that ensure that it will be paid. Then you need to enter your bank card details. And then there is a login check on those. Dear reader, every month I write down what the login is and every month I enter it and it is refused for some perverse reason. So then I give up and request new log in details. It is only August and I've renewed the login details 13 times this year.
Trying to pay my credit card bill is like breaking in to the Bank of England. I was going to say 'Bank of America', but their coffers are empty of everything, except kirby grips and old broken polo mints.
The worst thing is trying to pay Tartarus's credit card bill. 'You may not proceed unless you are...Tartarus...It is an offence to proceed unless you are the card holder' dictates the robotic lady-voice on the end of the phone. WHY??? For GOD'S SAKE. I'm trying to PAY it, not EMPTY it!
I have spent a whole day and two hours trying to log in to Sonshine's Nintendo Club to register his new 3DS.
We sit at the computer together.
Me: 'Right - what e-mail address did your dad use when he signed you up?
Me - opens all the e-mail accounts that belong to me. tries to find some reference to Club Nintendo. Eventually finds reference and seems to be linked to Tartarus's e-mail. Excellent. That's 30 minutes of my life I won't get back.
Me: OK - what is the password?
Sonshine *with confidence* Big Bunny
Type, type, type......
Me: Are you sure? Go and find the password book *yeah, I know, I'll need to burn it or bury it by the time he is 14 or I'll be penniless and in the gutter*
Sonshine returns with the book.
I eventually find Club Nintendo. Filed under D. Of course. For DS, I assume. Tartarus's powers of filing are inventive and probably goes some way to explain the crypticness of our log in details.
me: Aha! I have found it! *cryptic clue: Daddy's favourite toy* Well, that's easy, it's either ME or the Ducati. Since I haven't been played with for about 8 years, I plump for the Ducati.
Sonshine looks shifty. 'I just requested a new password, mum. Sorry. Never mind - it will be e-mailed in a couple of minutes.
I sigh. 'It might be e-mailed in a couple of minutes, but it will be sent to your father's e-mail address. On the ship. We'll need to wait until he logs on and forwards it to us.'
Sonshine looks at me hopefully. 'Don't you have dad's e-mail log in details?'
I don't. Well, I can't be buggered looking to see what weird filing system he's used for hotmail and, frankly, I dread what I might uncover in the search for it.
The e-mail arrives today. With the new password: It is a mixture of letters and numbers - two of which are 0 or a O and two of which are a 1 or a I. I spend almost an hour typing every permutation of zeros and capital Os, ones and capital Is until the fecking Nintendo Club account cracks under my relentless Enigma Code-breaking skills.
He logs in. Downloads a free game.
me: Is that it? Is that what we needed to get into the Club Nintendo for? A FREE GAME?'
Sonshine nodded and kissed me gently on the forehead: 'You're the BEST mum in the world,' he said - insincerely, even by my jaded standards.
I logged off and went to lie down with a Georgette Hayer novel.
Sometimes technology is a terrible, terrible thing.