THOSE dreadful online Docu-sign thingummybobs – the type where you scribble your signature in a tiny box with a clumsy, oversized fingertip.
I had an incredibly frustrating joust with one last week, failing miserably as usual, inadvertently replicating Guy Fawkes’ famous trembling confession signature, generated after countless hours of torture in the Tower of London.
Let’s be honest: Fawkes didn’t know half of it. Alright, so thumbscrews weren’t exactly an enjoyable experience – but I wonder how old Guido would have coped with twenty minutes of purgatory, navigating the intricacies of a legalese document that may as well have been written in Swahili it was so complex – gingerly box-ticking acceptance of various statements and clauses on a journey of endurance through numerous mind-boggling sections.
I must have done something right because the document was eventually accepted. Policy updated, I was curtly informed. I could now safely log out. Like lightning, I swept the cursor across the screen, dismissing the menace lest a problem was inexplicably discovered and the decision reversed.
Did I say cursor? Curser would be more like it: little old me, muttering and mumbling like an unusually irascible Muttley off Wacky Races: “Snazza, frazza, rashin’, fashin’, ronline, frippin’ srignature…”
Is there any wonder? Surely I can’t be the only one feeling eternally overwhelmed by a non-stop barrage of technological turbulence? You can’t simply access a site and get on with it. Oh no - that would be way too easy. Everything nowadays requires a password, typically six characters or more.
How about seven characters, then? Seven famous characters, in fact: DocGrumpyHappySleepyBashfulSneezyDopey. How’s that for a game of soldiers…?
There are also usernames and memorable information to worry about. Email address. Birthplace. Mother’s maiden name. Even favourite book – it’s got to be Barry Hines, hasn’t it? A Kestrel for a Knave? Anything else while we’re at it? Favourite colour, perhaps? Bathroom routine? Sock drawer status and description…?
Like most people, I’ve got stashed information for all kinds of log-ins. Holiday companies. Internet connection and online shopping. Even energy suppliers. Why anyone would need a password for energy usage is beyond comprehension. Like someone’s going to randomly log-in and pay the flipping gas bill – then again, if you’re offering?
It doesn’t stop there, though. We’ve got apps coming out of our ears. Apps for social media, banking, music and the NHS. And guess what? They all require passwords and usernames as well. I know, I know. I feel exactly the same. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it. I mean, you even need to download an app to park the car nowadays. Watch my lips: Just. Give. Us. A. Flipping. Pay. And. Display. Machine.
Airports are another example. Checked into departures recently, we naturally fancied a drink and a bite to eat. The bar was empty, so we amiably sauntered over, ordering a couple of pints and two nice sandwiches.
“You can’t order here, mate,” the barman said, polishing a glass like he was trying to rub the branding off. “You’ve got to download the app and order off the menu.”
I looked at him like he’d just stepped off a rocket ship from Mars: “But can’t we just give you the order? I mean, we’re here now.”
“Sorry, pal. I’m afraid it’s more than my job’s worth…”
We were soon seated, App downloaded as instructed. We’d created our password and username and were busily scrolling the menu, box-ticking choices, double and triple checking before clicking send. Wouldn’t you know it? The app crashed at the vital moment, necessitating a return visit to the bar for another chat with jobsworth.
“Not again,” he mouthed, sighing, despondently. “If the App’s been down once, it’s been down a thousand times lately. Tell us what you want, pal, and I’ll stick it through for you…”
Eureka! So we could get by without technology, after all. Who’d have believed it? As an ecstatic audience would roar as the turn trooped off at Birdwell WMC: more! More!
Footnote: if you’re struggling to nod off at night, it might be because your mobile phone is too close – otherwise known as a chronic case of Sleep-App-near.
