A Tuesday morning. Checking off tasks on my to-do list. Doing an internet search. Neither my firewall nor my anti-virus flagged anything amiss.
 
Then my computer blew up: pop-ups crowded the screen; an automated female voice from “Microsoft Security” incessantly repeated “your computer has been hacked. Do not lock or shut off your computer or you could lose all data.” I could not I afford to lose my work so, trembling and feeling I had no other options, I phoned the number for “Microsoft Security” at the bottom of my screen.
 
A “kind” man assured me that “Microsoft” would correct the problem, took me to the official-looking “Microsoft Security” website, and switched off the electronic voice because it was “irritating.” He apologized for “Microsoft” allowing the breach, and assured me that I would not be charged for the premium Microsoft security package because I was a senior: “You are a senior citizen, correct?” He expressed himself to be very concerned about the security of my finances and showed me that thirty-three hackers had breached not only my computer, but our entire network. By now, I was shaking. In the time that followed—and it was substantial—I was instructed to check my bank statements while he “logged off” for my security. After telling me to get paper and pen to note down the “transaction number” and his “name,” he then encouraged me to get a drink of water while he addressed the problem.
 
I was then told to answer a call from “tech support.” I thought the guy who had been on my computer for ages was tech support. But my computer was no longer mine; it had become a stranger in my house. I took the call.
 
The next “kind” man from “tech support” was difficult to understand. His voice kept cutting out amidst background sounds of a busy “tech” center, which made understanding him near impossible. He said something about a refund and me being a senior. I found myself saying, “I’m not hard of hearing; your voice is cutting out.” He, too, expressed deep concern about my finances and said that Microsoft was sending me a refund for, I guessed, allowing the breach. Question after question after question from “Kind Mr. Tech” followed, until I was having difficulty breathing and keeping focus. Then “Kind Mr. Tech” instructed me to type in, without mistakes and without hitting enter, line after line of information. With shaking fingers I complied, but the screen did not record the decimal point I entered for the “refund.” Immediately, a large sum of money transferred from “Microsoft” to my account. I told the man what had happened, and asked how to return the money.
 
He REALLY wanted his money back and had two simple solutions: I could wire the money at an additional cost or send a gift card. That’s when I knew. The men pretending to stop hackers were hackers themselves. It took a long time to get the pair off my computer, more time to discover from the bank that they’d merely transferred the “refund overpay” amount from one of our accounts to another, then to have my computer professionally cleaned. Still more days to shut down our accounts, get new checks and debit cards, upgrade our firewall, and change all my passwords.
 
Here’s the part of the account I find hardest to tell: these men targeted me because of my age. Using their admirable skills in both technology and the psychology of aging in a technological, youth-driven culture, they knocked away at my self-confidence and sense of competency, leaving me off balance and vulnerable. It must have been frustrating to have nearly reeled me in, only to have their fish dodge the hook at the last moment.
 
Surprisingly, I am not mad at the “kind men.” That may come later and will, most likely, blow the top of my head off. Right now, I am deeply sad. Sad that these men with so much knowledge and giftedness chose to use their gifts to do harm. Sad that I will never know if they are out there, doing the same thing to someone else. Sad that I will never know if they live around the corner or across the globe. Sad that my ability to trust has been devastated.
 
I am angry that telling this hard story was made harder by our culture’s anti-aging biases. I have experienced it first hand: people assuming I am retired—or should be; that my brain is muddled; that I make a good butt for a joke; that I am, basically, just expired milk.
 
Despite my fears over sharing the hack, I do so in hopes that others may avoid hackers, that anyone who falls prey to hacking knows they are not alone and will get through it, and, also, because I want to stand up for every person’s right, whatever age they may be, to be treated with respect. Otherwise, what the HACK are we doing as humans? 
 
What are your experiences with hackers? With aging? What hopes do you have for yourself as you age? Share your thoughts at contact@aspaciousplace.com.