The computer said, “Your password expires in 5 days.”
The programmer said, turning to a colleague, “This is odd. Is it the password’s fault? Is it really a question of the password dying?”
They had coffee later, which was typical. The programmer said, “We need to tell the user something. Like ‘Sorry to interrupt but there are those in the world who’d love to be you, so you aught to provide a new password to the system. The password is a part of you and you wouldn’t want it to be a part of another.'” It was good coffee. Just the right amount of sugar and cream. The programmer blew and sipped at the coffee.
The colleague said, “It’s the ‘love to be you’ that’s confusing. I’d say maybe something like, ‘It’s a dependency thing, like changing the key to your office every three months or so, but in this case we don’t really know what costs us more, so we’re opting for the password instead of the lock, so please would you enter a new one.'”
“That pretty good,” the programmer said, “but people don’t really like the words ‘dependency’ or ‘don’t really know’ as this threatens the illusion of integrity, which has its charms, and charm is something that would draw people in. So we’d have, ‘Since you began here, since you began tapping at me, I’ve fallen in love with you, really. I know you can’t return my sentiments, so I’ve decided on a trick to entice you into touching the keyboard, as it’s the nearest I’ll ever come. Forget about the germs. A new password, preferably lengthy and complicated, will keep us in closer contact. Every day you touch me and touch me still but a longer string of taps will link us more deeply.'”
In the parking lot, they stood under a lamp, one car here, another across the way, alone and dark and maybe yellow. “Tomorrow,” the programmer said, “we really need to consider those long lists of errors, and how what people see isn’t what’s there.”
“Like pets, when owners imagine sympathy,” the colleague said. “The machines may appropriately meow or bark. When they hang, they may be taught to entreat, to demonstrate longing.”
“That’s exactly what we should consider. With 11004 we might appeal to the commons, something like, ‘We’ve all been there. We’ve all gone home alone. We know what the sound one car door closing sounds like. So, it’s just you and me.
“Tomorrow, though,” concluded the programmer, for it was late. “Tomorrow we’ll pick it up and hit the long lists.”
