Back in 1985 I had a crummy job as a burglar alarm monitor, working for Security Monitoring Systems of Texas. I sat around a hot office all night and waited for something to happen. When something did happen, when an alarm came in, the computer would buzz and a customer number would appear on the monitor. Then I would pull a big loose-leaf binder from the shelf and see what the customer wanted—sometimes they wanted the monitor to call the cops immediately, sometimes they wanted the monitor to call the house or business to see if everything was all right. So, I was sitting there one night, very early morning, not quite light out, sweating, waiting, and the computer buzzed.
I looked at the number on the screen and then pulled down the instructions. I was supposed to call the customer and ask for the secret password. Burglars don’t know the password, right?
So I got on the phone and called the customer. A groggy-sounding guy answered.
“Hi,” I said. “This is security. I’m calling to see if you know the password.”
“The password?” the guy asked. “Uh….”
Now, if whoever answered the phone didn’t know the password, I was supposed to hang up and immediately call the cops. But calling the cops was always a hassle. So I asked again.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “This is security. I’m calling to see if you know the password.”
“No-no….” The guy sounded half-asleep. “Nobody told me any password.”
Which meant he wasn’t supposed to be in that house. But still. He sounded confused. That happened. There was a drunk guy in Pennsylvania who was always setting his alarm off accidentally. I had to call the cops on him at least once a week.
“Well,” I said, “I still need the password.”
“But—but…I don’t have a password.”
I was about to hang up when I glanced down at the phone. The readout had the phone number in it. The area code I had dialed was 503. Hmm. I looked at the instructions.
The number I was supposed to have called had a 603 area code.
Oh.
Oh!
I said, “Well, okay, sir. We’re just checking. But you need to get yourself a password.”
And I hung up.
I looked at the number on the screen and then pulled down the instructions. I was supposed to call the customer and ask for the secret password. Burglars don’t know the password, right?
So I got on the phone and called the customer. A groggy-sounding guy answered.
“Hi,” I said. “This is security. I’m calling to see if you know the password.”
“The password?” the guy asked. “Uh….”
Now, if whoever answered the phone didn’t know the password, I was supposed to hang up and immediately call the cops. But calling the cops was always a hassle. So I asked again.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “This is security. I’m calling to see if you know the password.”
“No-no….” The guy sounded half-asleep. “Nobody told me any password.”
Which meant he wasn’t supposed to be in that house. But still. He sounded confused. That happened. There was a drunk guy in Pennsylvania who was always setting his alarm off accidentally. I had to call the cops on him at least once a week.
“Well,” I said, “I still need the password.”
“But—but…I don’t have a password.”
I was about to hang up when I glanced down at the phone. The readout had the phone number in it. The area code I had dialed was 503. Hmm. I looked at the instructions.
The number I was supposed to have called had a 603 area code.
Oh.
Oh!
I said, “Well, okay, sir. We’re just checking. But you need to get yourself a password.”
And I hung up.
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