A mass-mailer to reset passwords usually means a new head of IT or an executive’s info had been divulged because their password was “monkey” or “abc123” so we now needed passwords with a capital letter, a lowercase letter, and at least one digit.  In addition to this, the answer to security questions had to have a minimum length regardless of their actual length; even though my first pet was “Max”, I need to answer “maxthedog”.  I set the custom questions to:

Who is number 1?  “iamnumbertwoyouarenumbersix”
When is a raven like a writing desk? “idontknowthatswhyitisariddle”
Who is phone? “phoneisring”

After all this I had to set my password, so I entered my current one out of habit and waited for it to be rejected as a previously used password yet it wasn’t.  So after all this, the focus on security, the quest to increase entropy, and the need to have a clean start we’re allowed to use old passwords.  Spectacular.

The magical computer faeries finally arrived today with my new desktop and after telling the installation guy who had the deadly combination of horrible breath and a soft voice that required leaning in to hear him that I’d been at BMS before he simply left without telling me my new password.  I called him as he’d left his card and he said he couldn’t tell me my password and that I’d have to call in to do a manual password reset that history informed me takes about an hour.  I resigned myself losing my afternoon in a labyrinthine bureaucracy until I saw that he’d left his notebook containing the remaining set-ups and passwords for the rest of his jobs that day.  I called again:
Me: Mr. X, are you missing something?
Him: What do you mean?
Me: Oh, I don’t know.  A certain yellow datebook with a list of executive passwords in it?
Him: I’ll swing by and pick it up.  Leave it on your desk.
Me: The book could be lost again before you get here.  I certainly can’t be responsible for your stuff…
Him: What do you want.
Me: My password… now.
Him: I can’t that violates our firm’s policy I’ve told you that…
Me: Could you hold on, your notebook appears to have disappeared.
Him: Okay! I’ll tell you.  I’ll be over in about an hour.
Me: Half an hour.
Him: 45 minutes.
Me: Deal.
I hung up the phone and resumed petting my Persian cat in my high-back leather chair.