Every so often–especially when I’m having trouble coming up with something to post about–I’ll read through some of the blog’s archives. And, yes, today was one of those times. I spent an hour or so browsing through the posts from mid-2017 and, geez, not much has changed.
I mean, yes, there were some highlights: getting my author’s copies of The RagTime Traveler, Rufus integrating himself with the rest of our menagerie, watching the Mariners come from behind to beat the As in extra innings (with no Manfred Man!).
Some lowlights as well, naturally. Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, Senator McCain leaving the hospital to vote against making medical care more widely available, and the reminder of how little time we would have with Rufus.
But there’s a lot that I could have written in the past couple of months. The public’s increasing willingness to rush to judgement without evidence. The Mariners flirting with .500 (though this July, it’s Baltimore instead of Seattle). Apple trying to pass of incremental changes as revolutionary. Illegal fireworks. People claiming the inclusion of women in significant roles destroys their childhood memories.
Does this mean I’m stuck in a rut, or that everyone else is?
But all that aside, one post caught my attention. No, not the thing about the Project Fi Travel Socks (though, in keeping with the theme here, I’ll note that I still have ’em and wore ’em on last month’s trip to Sedalia). No, it’s the part about the Sedalia Holiday Inn Express’ horrid approach to computers and computer security.
Because five years after I wrote that post, the situation is even worse.
The Wi-Fi still offers the same three choices for signing on. Only now the HIE Club members’ method explicitly states that no password is needed. And you still need to log on multiple times over the course of your stay–though to be totally fair, the frequency has dropped to daily, rather than “every time you leave and come back”.
But the worst was that “Business Center” in the lobby. During our entire stay, I never saw anyone using them. Not once. And I don’t blame my travelers a bit. The only reason I tried them was to print boarding passes for our flight home*. And I mean “them” literally: I tried both computers.
* Yes, I know one can check in via smartphone and get the boarding pass there, too. I’m sure that’s what everyone else staying at the HIE did. But I needed paper passes. For reasons.
One of them wouldn’t turn on. At least that one’s not going to be giving away anyone’s credit card information. The other had a distinctly green screen, suggesting either an about-to-die video card or a really, really bad VGA cable. Either way, annoying but ignorable for my purposes. However, five minutes after I turned it on, I was still waiting for it to load the Windows desktop. And I mean literally five minutes, which means either a failing hard drive, a full-to-the-point-of-explosion hard drive, or an operating system crammed full of malware and harmless-but-unnecessary software. Or all three.
At that point, the helpful woman behind the registration desk offered to let me use her computer. Yes, the one that gives full access to HIE’s reservation system and all of that lovely customer data–including credit card numbers. Oy.
I didn’t lecture her. I thanked her profusely and tried to use the browser tab she helpfully opened for me before she turned away to talk to my mother. Oy, again.
Alaska Airlines refused to let me check in. Why? Because that browser was Internet Explorer, which is now officially unsupported by Microsoft and about to be removed from millions of Windows computers around the world. Oy, a third time.
Add a fourth “oy”, because there was nothing–including the helpful woman–stopping me from opening Edge to, you know, actually do what I needed to do. I could have opened any other program on that machine, or gone to any website in the world, and installed anything I wanted to.
I still didn’t lecture her. I checked in, printed our boarding passes*, thanked the helpful woman again, and went up to the room.
* By the way, there’s still no printer in that so-called Business Center. I suspect those machines are still network-connected to the printer I used under the front desk. Which implies that those printers are on the same network as every other computer in the hotel. So all of the malware on the Business Center computers has completely unimpeded access to the reservation system.
Ethically, I probably should have said something about the hotel’s inexcusable laxity, but what could she have done? She’s only a pawn in HIE’s corporate structure. Not that she would have understood why any of the issues were issues; in the few words we exchanged, it was clear that her computer knowledge is limited to turning on the computer she let me use and using HIE’s reservation system. I couldn’t spend the necessary hours to explain the basic concepts of access control, hardened perimeters, and software vulnerabilities, even if I thought she’d sit still for it.
Oh, and that green-screened “Business” computer? I checked on it as I went past. It had finally brought up the desktop, but was still struggling to open Microsoft Teams, Skype, and–I kid you not–Steam. Wait, it gets even worse. There was a Minecraft icon on the desktop and a recovered Chrome tab for a bank–with a user name and password prefilled in the Login fields, thanks to Chrome’s ever-helpful password manager.
Change. Who needs it, right?