Chapter 12 – Pregzilla: Password Protected

What you will read below would probably be a workplace dealbreaker for most, I’m fully aware. But because of the bizarre and outrageous surrounding circumstances, because I wholeheartedly believe in the mission of our organization, and because I, like many of you, can’t wait to see what happens next, I decided to hang in there. You can call me a glutton for punishment, if you wish. I prefer to think of it as The Mitford Years, only with way-weirder characters.


Before I’d left on my professional sabbatical, I’d equipped Boss with a current list of all the corporate account passwords, email passwords, you name it. Cause, I mean, since I’d first started working there, I had never been gone more than a couple days at a stretch, and just in case Boss wanted to check the bank balances or something, (or mayhap I met some tragic end during my absence) I wanted the business to be able to go on seamlessly without me. I assured him that all bills were current, paid up, and that all would be well until my return.

I spoke way too soon about the all being well part, because I didn’t realize that Zilla was planning to get her mitts on the list, apparently with Boss’ blessing, and change every password, including the one to my personal Gmail account, which I’d included on the list because I archive my corporate emails there. I had noticed that something was up when one day from home I tried to check up on a couple of business utility payments, to make sure they’d been posted. I mistakenly thought that my inability to log in to the accounts was just a dial-up fluke, or I’d bungled the password, or something.

So when I returned to the office that first day, immediately after the mass emailing fiasco had begun to simmer down in Boss’ office, I casually mentioned to Boss that I was having trouble accessing the corporate accounts. Truthfully, I was beginning to panic just a touch. Because if I couldn’t get into them (and I’d by this time tried each one several times) then that must mean someone ELSE had gotten into them, and I was more than a little alarmed about the potential disaster that a hacker might inflict on our unpretentious not-for-profit.

Oh, yes. Well, they’d changed the passwords, Boss and Zilla had, and they’d be doling them back out on a “need to know” basis. And this, dearhearts, is where Zilla’s newfound position of power and/or grievously misplaced resentment and/or whatever was in her craw began to rear its ugly head.

Because I realized, unfortunately better than she , the immensity of the role she had so hastily embarked upon, I felt enormous compassion for Zilla, I can’t emphasize that enough. I also can’t overemphasize how incredibly VEXED I was. I was THINKING, “COME ON!!!” …and “After all I did to try to make that slapdash wedding of yours respectable, THIS is the thanks I get?” …and “What could I possibly have done while I was GONE, to deal the deathblow to both my dependability AND my integrity????” …and “You’ve GOT to be kidding me!” and a number of other vitriolic but totally defensible reflections. But what I actually SAID was, “Um, if you want me to pay the bills, I’ll need those passwords,” with the sweetest smile I could muster.

“Zilla, could you give Ellen the utility account passwords?”

Now Zilla and Boss had been on the phone for awhile trying to straighten out the mass email debacle (without success, I might add, though they later DID get the mess somewhat rectified, and we seem to be mostly out of the cyberdoghouse) So Zilla sighs heavily, gets up from her chair, closes Boss’ door almost on my nose and goes digging in a drawer. A drawer that only days ago, I was fully authorized to access, but that now contained top secret information too sensitive for me to even be in the same room with. She conferred with Boss, scribbled for awhile, opened the door and slapped a piece of paper down on the table.

“There you go.”

The list looked a little…..short.

Thinking there must have been some items they overlooked in their angst over the email thing, I asked, “Could I have the bank account password?”

“No, we’re going to keep that confidential. Nobody needs access to that information.”

Duh…..Nobody except, perhaps……MEEEEEEE! “I can’t pay bills or keep the books without being able to check on balances and reconcile the accounts. That IS what you want me to do, right Boss?”

“Oh, yes, well. That’s right, Zilla, she does have to have that bank password after all. Ellen, make sure NO ONE ELSE CAN GET THIS.” Dag. Then I guess maybe I’m gonna have to go peel that Citibank username and password bumper sticker off my van then, huh? You mean I can’t tell ANYbody? Dang it.

What the heck!?!? More scribbling on the paper I’d handed back. I thought about what else I’d noticed lacking on that list.

Before she was finished, I asked, “Oh, could I have my email account password?” I felt like a recalcitrant 10 year old with a forbidden MySpace.

Boss chimed in again, “Well, from now on, we’re going to keep control of all those email accounts ourselves.” Stunned silence from me for several seconds.

“Um, Boss, that’s MY email account. I do keep archives of some business emails in the folders, and all my vital documents, so just in case our (crappy! but I didn’t say that) server crashes, we won’t lose important correspondence.” (“Like perhaps what happened to all of YOUR emails and your document files a couple of months ago ,” I wanted to add, but I resisted. And, of course, I was able to replace a significant chunk of what he lost. From MY personal Gmail account, that I set up for use at work. Yeah.)

“Oh. Give her that password too then, Honey.” Zilla looked like an elementary teacher’s pet trying to shield her “Capitals of Europe” test from the prying eyes of her unprepared classmates. Give me a stinking break. Geeeeeez. This was kind of like extracting teeth.

I started formulating nonsensical exclamations in my head: “NO, don’t give Ellen the business password to Staples!!! No telling what kind of havoc she could wreak with THAT!!” “Guard that Vistaprint username with your LIFE. She’ll go BONKERS and order 2 million double-sided glossy business cards.”

Even then, I was smirking a little, and had a real struggle making my way back to my desk before my shoulders started to shake with mirth. I’m kind of irreverent that way. Seriously though, Boss knew I wasn’t the type to misappropriate resources. WHAT could they be THINKING???

Anyhow, armed with my new arsenal of usernames and passwords, and yes, by the way, she’d changed most of the usernames too , I logged into our corporate bank account. I can’t express to you my shock. All the bills, even those that I’d already set to pay ONLINE, had been paid via paper check and snail mail, by Zilla. I could see their little cleared transaction records right there in front of me. Yep, her efforts meant this month’s bills had been paid TWICE, and again, without the benefit of a quick phone call to me to see whether they NEEDED to be paid, which of course they DIDN’T.

Boss was already more or less aware of this fact, because he mentioned it as he left the office area to return to his conference with the client. I wondered silently if this had been the subject of some angry words between them, because his acknowledgment seemed a little….strained.

Oh, and by the way, the insurance company had “messed up” and charged our bank account twice for the auto insurance premium, but he’d made sure to put them in their place, they were full of remorse, and they’d be reimbursing us.

Yeah, buddy. Wonder what they made of your tirade when they researched and discovered that they had received TWO paper checks. Written by Zilla on different dates, but both signed by YOU, Boss. It’s possible to see that sort of thing, you know, because there are copies of the checks on the bank website. (I’m sure Boss really didn’t know that it was his and his new wife’s mistake. Zilla no doubt had him convinced otherwise, because of course SHE couldn’t possibly have screwed it up!)

Even though I was more or less fuming, I cut her some slack here, because she’d already amassed a whole catalog of startling transgressions, and she hadn’t even been with us a fortnight.

And the day wasn’t over yet….