I had it all planned out. A relaxing holiday season with plenty of time to catch up on football and some favorite TV shows. Silly me.
First it was the minor interruptions. The usual annoyances: a dead battery, a flat tire, and a malfunctioning printer. A couple hours here, a couple more there, and I’m back to relaxation mode. Then came the weird stuff. I heard a noise downstairs, and it was a shattered fireplace door. Tiny shards of glass everywhere. I looked it up online, and learned that using an ammonia-based glass cleaner, as we had done the day before, can cause such an explosion. (Thanks internet, NOW you tell me.) We only use the fireplace in case of a power outage, so it had no immediate effect on our lives. That is, except for the tedious cleanup process.
With that finally out of the way, my wife greeted me on New Year’s morning with a question about her Apple iPhone: “Why do I have all of these e-mails from Apple, telling me that my username, passwords, contacts, and phone number have been deleted?”
This was a problem that not even I, the self-proclaimed fixer of minor technology glitches, could conquer. I followed all the troubleshooting instructions, but when you can’t sign into your account it’s just one brick wall after another.
Thus began my journey into the vast wilderness of Apple Tech Support. During the span of a week, I think I talked to just about all of Tim Cook’s trainees. To be fair, they tried hard and meant well. I certainly can’t blame them for the long “hold” times, because they were covered up with post-holiday snafus. And when I asked them to give me instructions as if I were a struggling 4th grader, they kindly complied. Still, I was outmatched.
Their questions came like a barrage of arrows. “What’s your SSID?” “Do you know your network password?” “Can you get into the Cloud?” “Do you brush your Bluetooth with a fluoride toothpaste?” (I may have made that last one up. My head is still spinning.)
Working together, the Apple experts and I were able to determine that my wife’s account was hacked by someone in Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea. Thankfully, my wife had no financial information in her accounts. This means somewhere in North Korea, the hacker dude is enjoying our family photos and some mouth watering recipes.
He can also read years’ worth of personal messages between my wife and me. Her: “Pick up some green split peas on your way home.” Me: “Are they frozen or in those bean bags on the grocery shelf?” Her: “Shelf. And be sure to get organic, not those cheap brands.” Me: ”What’s the difference? Peas are peas.” Her: “Never mind, I’ll get them myself.” After reading a few of these exchanges, Hacker Man will regret getting entangled with the Carroll family.
The Apple Corps finally concluded that my wife’s phone would need a fresh start. It would need to be wiped clean. She would have to get a new Apple account, new I-Cloud account, new phone number, new passwords, and new apps. Just to be safe, I suggested she dye her hair, stop eating meat, and switch religions.
Apple’s recommendations seemed way too drastic for me. As a last-ditch effort, I made my plea to a technician named “Robert,” whose accent was unlike any Robert I have met during my lifetime.
“Robert,” I said, “This shouldn’t be so difficult. Just go up into the Cloud, retrieve my wife’s user name, phone number and passwords, get into her accounts, take control, find all of her pictures, messages, contacts and apps, and put them back into the phone we purchased from you just 3 months ago. You told us not to worry, because it was all stored inside that wonderful cloud, remember? Well now, we just need access to our stuff.”
After an awkward pause, ‘Robert’ said, “But you don’t understand. There’s no way I can do all that.”
“Of course you can,” I replied. “Some guy in Pyongyang did it. Go hire him!”
I’m still waiting to hear back.
