Access Denied

I shouldn't really be writing this. I doubt you'll ever get a chance to read it. But I have to put my story, the truth, out there. I've got nothing to lose anyway.

My name, if it matters, is JC Bartholomew. I'm a regular person. I live in a regular apartment and worked a regular job at the Ministry of Public Order until last year when I broke my ankle.

I didn't do well being home. I filled my days the way one does, watching trash TV, reading, and surfing the internet. I'm not great with technology, but I know enough to get by, just barely. I can do my banking, pay my bills, shop, and manage my minuscule social media presence. Beyond that, I have no idea and don't care to know.

My life was plodding along, fair to middlein' as they say. Until it wasn't.

I can't exactly pinpoint when it all started to go wrong. As far as I can recall, it was last June. Not the June that just passed, June of 2034. I got into a little tiff with the moderator of a group on a site I was a member of. It got a little heated, but nothing crazy. I'm always careful.

I did say something about the Governing Body. That shouldn't have been shocking. Lots of people oppose them and their authority. That's part of what being in a free and democratic society is about, being able to speak truth to power. Yes, maybe biting the hand that feeds is a bad idea, but still, I have my rights.

Am I supposed to sit by quietly when I see wrongdoing? Am I supposed to sit by and say nothing when I see the poorest of the poor shoved aside, left without homes and food? And I suppose to turn a blind eye and pretend not to see the actions that don't match the promises?

Anyway, that was the flavour of the debate. She wasn't budging. In fact, she called me a few choice names. I may have responded in kind, but again, nothing too out there. I decided to log off and watch something on TV. I don't like confrontation and I like drama less. Walk away is my motto, you know like the old line in that country song my great grampy used to like, "you don't have to fight to be a man." You don't have to fight to be a woman for that matter. You don't have to fight to be strong. Sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is walk away.

A while later, I went back online. I couldn't log in. I tried 3 or 4 times and it kept kicking me back, claiming my password was incorrect. It wasn't. I used the same password for everything. I only have enough space in my head for one. It's a good one, though, a series of letters, numbers, and symbols, 12 in all that's nonsensical to anyone but me.

"Please, reset your password," the screen glared at me.

So I did. I added an exclamation mark to the end of "old faithful" and went about my business. It worked and the rest of the night was uneventful.

The next day, I couldn't get on to the internet at all. My provider asked me to reset my password. I obliged, grudgingly and changed it to the same secret combination + exclamation point.

Fine, good, these things happen. They're annoying but they're part of life in the modern world. Until they become more than that.

I know you won't believe me. I know you'll think I'm suffering some sort of delusion. I'm not. I'm being watched. I'm being silenced. And I'm being systematically frozen out of society.

Yes, I know how crazy that sounds, but trust me, I am. I have the evidence to back it up.

After the first reset your password demand from social media, there were countless others until they wouldn't even send me the requisite email link to accomplish the required reset.

So, I opened new accounts, under a new name. Still mine, but using my first name instead of JC, then just my middle name, then my childhood nickname. Within 72 hours, I was invariably locked out with the same demand for a reset without the accompanying email.

That was annoying, but I can live without social media. Let's be honest, it's a waste of time anyway. They did me a favour. I started reading more and as the ankle healed, getting out more and more. There's nothing like the smell of cedar trees in the morning to make you feel alive!

So, whatever, right?

Then my internet and cable crapped out. I paid my bill. I always paid my bills. And it was a fine day, no reason for an outage. I checked the status of my account with my phone.

Invalid password, reset your password. Here we go again. I try that a few times with no result. I called their customer service number and get a very enthusiastic-sounding person on the line that asks me 20 questions.

What was the name of the street I grew up on?

What's my mother's maiden name?

What's my favourite movie?

I answer them all. Access denied. Apparently, I can't prove I'm me, even though I am, in fact, me.

I ask for a supervisor. We go through the same futile exercise. I threaten to take my business elsewhere. I threaten to go to the media. Nothing.

So I make good on the first threat. I sign up for another provider. I have to wait a few days, but soon I'm back in action.

Then it was the bank and the phone. But each time I was able to work around it either by actually resetting my password or switching providers.

Then it was the Governing Body Tax Authority. I logged in to apply for the Inflationary Relief Program. Inflation stands at 23% and they saw fit to offer a quarterly cash infusion to those below a certain income threshold. A pretty generous threshold, honestly. I am below that threshold.

Nothing. My account is locked. I have to reset my password. I can't. It won't let me. There's no mechanism on the page that provides such an option.

I call the toll-free number. More ridiculous questions. Questions no normal person has the answers to. But I did because, despite my poor memory for passwords, I have total recall for pointless information like my childhood telephone number, my medical insurance number from 30 years ago, and my high school home address.

Where did you live in October 2021?

How much money did you take from the Parental Leave Program ever in life?

Where did you live in January 1970 (spoiler alert, nowhere, I wasn't born)?

What was the name of your spouse as listed on your tax return 5 yeaers ago?

Nope. Access denied. I'll have to authenticate myself via mail, the voice on the line tells me. They'll send me papers. Papers that never come.

But today, today, I knew. I knew what was really going on. First I went to get gas. The pump kept kicking my card back saying my password (they called it a PIN) was invalid. Again, it wasn't.

I tried to check my bank balance on my phone. No service. Worse than that, my phone asked for my password. I punched it in. I have a lock on it, for obvious reasons. Nothing. Denied.

So, no gas. I drive to the bank to straighten things out. I know I have money in there. I wait in line for about 15 minutes to see the one teller that seems to be employed there. There were 2 others but they were chatting among themselves. Maybe it was a staff meeting.

She asked me to put my card into the little machine. It prompted me to...wait for it...reset my password. Nothing worked. I tried 5 times.

Finally, the clerk said she needed to verify my identity. I pulled out my driver's license, birth certificate, and passport even though I've been with this bank since I was 4 and my mom opened a little account for me. She disappears.

She comes back and says there's nothing she can do, the signature doesn't match the one on the signature card on file.

Signature card? Is it 1990? Of course, it doesn't match; that signature was made when I was 11. it's not even a signature, it was printing.

I demand to see the manager. Nothing. She stared at me with beady brown eyes narrowed in suspicion while she tapped her foot impatiently. There are 3 men behind her, all in identical black suits. They're wearing sunglasses, but not saying anything. They seem out of place, but I ignore them.

I threaten to close out my account and take my business elsewhere. Ha ha, can't close out my account, I'm not verified.

I give up! That's how I felt. No phone, no cable, no internet, and now no bank and a car with about 1/4 tank of gas. But I did find a$20 in my pocket.

So I went back to the gas station. I pulled in and chose "pay at the pump," walked inside the shop, and waited my turn.

"Twenty on pump 7, please, "I say to the guy behind the counter.

He stands there a second. He says nothing but I can feel the air around me change. It shifts from the nothingness of a routine errand to a hostile chill.

"I gotta reset the password, man," he says.

I nod and wait while he steps away and fiddles with some buttons.

"Won't work," he said flatly.

I can see people outside pumping gas as I stand there. Three people come in and pay him without incident. I point this out to him. I note parenthetically that they're wearing the same suits and sunglasses as the dudes in the bank.

He shrugs. I leave. Can't argue with stupid.

I drive down to the next station. I try again. Same thing.

"I'm sorry, sir," the young lady this time, says sweetly, "it's asking me to reset the password."

Of course, by now I know she won't be able to. I stand there, smiling stupidly until she's tired herself of trying.

I ask for her manager. She produces a short, fat man with wisps of greasy dark hair covering small parts of his head. He looks annoyed. He walked straight to the counter and leans over it, glaring at me.

"You ain't got the password, mother (we'll say trucker)," he spits, and I mean literally spits, "now get the hell outta here!"

I leave and I'm pissed! I yell a string of expletives behind me followed by, "These bastards aren't going to beat me!" Three men in black suits and sunglasses are gassing up.

Now, here I sit, alone in my studio, which I'm not sure how I'll pay for because I can't access my money. I have no contact with the outside world on my own. I'm writing this right now because my neighbour kindly lent me his internet password. I'm not sure how long we'll get away with this.

But you can see what I mean. This is too much. There's no way all of this is a coincidence. They're trying to silence me. They're trying to freeze me out. I can hear someone knocking at the door. No doubt it's some clown in a dark suit and sunglasses. I'm not going to answer it.

I guess it must be because of what I said. Am I crazy, or am I right? You tell me because I'm not sure. All I know is that these days, if you're in, you're in and if you're out, you're really, really out.