So I have this new laptop that is really nice, very hi-tech. I’m trying to get with the modern world, after years of resisting it. No, it’s not a Mac. I won’t bite that, those babies are too expensive for me, especially on the verge of unemployment – and I’d have to learn a whole new user system, right? No thanks. I did fall a bit into the rabbit hole and bought an iPhone. It took me a decade or so to catch up but I took the plunge. Mixing metaphors…and I couldn’t even turn the damnable thing on. It just kept saying hello to me. Yes, hello.
ANYWAY. I got someone to explain the “home” button and now I know how to use mostly everything. So I have this new Yoga thing and it also uses a lot of the same technology. Fingerprint reader to open etc. Except that it doesn’t always work. And then what?
Like, say you’ve got really dry hands, since this winter has been cold and dry and awful. So you put some hand cream on, and go to the laptop but it says, “Who the hell are you, with your greasy finger on my pristine surface?” Nope, you’re not getting in. No matter how much wiping and washing you do, you’re out. You can try again another day, sister, but unless you remember your passcode, you are not getting into this secure machine.
Passcode? I had a passcode? I have no recollection of that. Sure, the friendly Yoga says. We gave you many options. We’re not the bad guys. You must be a bad guy if you have the wrong fingerprint AND you don’t know the passcode. Try one more time, and we’ll electrocute you.
This never happened with my iPhone. So far.
I hope their anti-virus protection is this good, although there’s really nothing to steal, since I can’t get in to do anything on it yet. Maybe full-facial recognition would be better. But then again, I’ve seen my face in the morning.
It’s really ironic that my fingerprint won’t be read by the new laptop, because I tried to pull a fast one when I was questioned about a murder once and my prints were fuzzy. I told the cops that when I was training as a gymnast, we sandpapered our hands and that’s why my prints didn’t come out clearly. It wasn’t true. The Gypsy boys in Greenwich Village taught me to use it when I was learning how to pick pockets on the subways. No gymnastics there, just pure sleight of hand.
I’m going back to my 15-pound Toshiba. It’s always happy to see me, and carrying it around is good for my biceps. The Yoga looks classier, though, so I’ll keep trying it until my fingerprints reappear or I get electrocuted, whichever comes first.