I once worked at a small-town newspaper, part of a micro-chain of four publications. There was one young guy who oversaw “IT” for all four sites, and he occasionally tried to impose IT-like rules, like making us change our publication software passwords every few weeks. Did “password1234” protect our ink-stained souls, whereas “password123” would have meant doom? Who can say?

I chafed at this occasional performative security. In a fit of pique, I decided my rotating password scheme would be the IT manager’s license plate, followed by whatever I had for lunch that day. I thought myself quite clever, even if, a few months later, I forgot I had typed in “turkeyhoagie” instead of “turkeysub” earlier that new-password day, and I had to call said IT manager for a reset. I have no idea if he saw my password before he provided the replacement. I still felt clever, even in defeat.