Decoding the 'user-friendly' network: The odyssey of the password

There are worse things in life than Dean's warnings, probation and getting hosed. I just had no idea that the OIT-gurus controlled them.

It all started very simply. OIT supplied me with a user name and password the day I walked onto this campus. They were friendly in setting up my computer, helpful when my footnote function was in default mode and kind the fifth time my printer stopped recognizing my computer. Perhaps this is why I chose not to heed their warnings.

"You are using a default password," wrote OIT one day early last spring. So what if my password was still the same? Who would really want my ancient e-mails anyway? And, come on, hackers at Princeton?

"You are still using a default password," chimed OIT at the beginning of this school year and, again, I had no worries. I appreciated their efforts in ensuring that no one could access my personal flag-football schedules, Agape e-mails and SOC 322 precept updates, but I honestly didn't care. My password was simple. All numbers. Easily decodable, sure, but mine nonetheless. Until the other day.

On the day in question, I got a third e-mail from OIT which appeared to be an early ransom note for my Internet access. Though its demands were simple, "change your password," its threat was not, "access to any account still retaining the original, insecure password will be locked."

Apparently this password was not mine and not only that, but it had to be changed by a certain date or access to "my Internet" would be terminated, seemingly forever.

Fortunately, I was not alone. In an attempt to peer pressure me into making a quick change, OIT hit me with the third grade line, "but everyone else is doing it!" Sadly, they failed.

"This is the third OIT e-mail message to you, requesting that you change your originally-established password to something more secure," it began. Obnoxious, but nice enough. "Unlike 2,700 other undergraduates who are not receiving this third mailing, you have not yet made the needed change." Ouch.

Now I come from a small Alabama town, a Christian high school, a puberty's worth full of cliques and popularity contests. I've been judged for my religion, my upbringing, even my state football program, but this hurt. And someway, somehow, after being judged, examined and found sufficient to fill my state's Princetonian quota, OIT managed to make me feel dumb.

I sat at my desk staring at this hateful e-mail that told of my fate as "that girl" who just didn't get it until I realized what the e-mail wasn't saying.

Maybe it was my extensive math training in the SOC program, or maybe the fact that four out of seven of my suitemates got the same email, but I soon realized that while I was found wanting by those 2,700 OIT-suave classmates, I was in good company with my 2,300-plus delinquent Princeton friends.

Still, despite the apparent declining importance of this e-mail, my roommate and I decided to forge ahead and join this exclusive OIT network before they decided that we weren't "OIT Material." Plus, we didn't want to lose our e-mail access — a decision of necessity, really. Besides, being the technologically advanced computer geniuses that they are, OIT had included a user-friendly bright blue " click here" link that even the lowest road kill on the information superhighway could locate. If the letter itself had been friendlier, I might've expected to find a smiley face next to the address.

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"NetID," simple enough, "ajohnson." One soon-to-be-default password later and I was in. "Original Password." I prepared to type my now dearly loved totally numerical (and perfectly fine) code in for the last time. As I began to enter my new password, I figured, trying to keep things as simple as possible, my old AOL one will be fine. "carmen." Simple. Concise. Random.

Bing. "Invalid password option: Password must contain uppercase letters." Fine.

"Carmen." Bing. "Invalid password option: Password must contain numbers." Fine. "Carmen05." Bing. "Invalid password option: Password must contain symbol." Fine.

"Carmen*05" Bing. "Invalid password option: Password can be no longer that eight spaces." Fine. "Carmen*5." Bing. "Invalid password option: Password can be derived from the word 'carmen.' " "OITSUCKS." Bing. It began to get ugly.

My roommate and I embarked on our humble quest for continuation of e-mail by seeking words containing capitals, numbers, symbols and not closely resembling any other word easily deciphered by ape, man or computer. Oh yeah, and in less than eight characters.

"sbelle05," "SBelle05," "SBelle*05." Bing. Bing. Bing. "Invalid password option: Can be derived from the word 'Sbelle.'" And so it began.

"Jewelsy" was too close to "jewels," "Bonjov1" could be derived from "bonjo," and even the old safety "QWERTY" was denied, much to the pain of my third roommate whom had wandered in at the wrong time. The culmination of our frustration arose when, out of pure hopelessness, they tried "QT0521." Bing. "Invalid password option: Password can be derived from the word "521."

Thirty minutes and no completed homework later, we found success in the darkest of all corners. The MTV generation found an oasis in the land of videos and rappers. As is the rising trend, things that once "sucked" now "szuck" and the precious minutes I spent coming up with this hack-proof word no longer "time" but "tzime" — lost tzime at that.

Thirty seconds later, I received my award to a successful password change by merely inserting a "z" into the middle of a standard word. Logical, I suppose, inserting a seemingly random letter into a seemingly random word until you realize that this "z" is a growing phenomena and "05" can't be all that random at Princeton.

I have to give credit. OIT did get me to change my password, so maybe the nasty e-mail was merely a successful tool in forcing me into my inevitable fate and the complicated system just an extra kick from those more computer literate than myself while already down. My password is now secure, safe and totally my own. Then again, in an effort to aid the common good, I may have divulged the very secret which I longed to establish. And I'm betting harsh e-mails are hardly all that OIT is capable of . . . Any suggestions on a new password? Ashley Johnson is from Florence, Ala. She can be reached at ajohnson@princeton.edu.