Dancing with Biometrics
© 2004 WoodyHill.co.uk
Since the dawn of time mankind has used technology to produce tools which make life easier or more comfortable. However, if not used with care, the very same tools can have exactly the opposite effect. The hammer for example can strike a painful blow to the tip of a thumb. The power drill can almost wilfully seek out hidden pipes while you're putting up those new shelves. Technology marches on regardless and the computer age has heralded new opportunities for technology to trip us up - our tools now have the added capacity to make a fools of us.
At my place of work some of the doors are protected by biometric locks. These are intended to examine some body part or other to decide if you should be allowed the privilege of entry. Until recently this has required the placing of a finger on a little red glowing pad.
It all worked very well for some time, no keys to search for, just touch, a two second pause, then ‘click’ and your in.
Great, a very impressive system until one Monday morning the expected click was replaced by an unfriendly beep. Repeated attempts were met with more beeping and a brief messag
e on the little green screen, which amounted to ‘I don’t know you – push off’.
Without ceremony, I found myself reduced from a lofty position of respectability and privilege to nothing more than a common man off the street. Somewhere in its silicon pea brain it had decided that over the weekend I had turned into the UK’s least trustworthy citizen.
There was no persuading it - it wasn’t interested in my pleadings, it wasn’t interested in my company pass, driving licence, passport or a recent utility bill with my name and address on it. It refused to be bribed or blackmailed and was immune to eventual threats of violence.
With my dignity stripped from me I had to throw myself on the mercy of passing colleagues whose fingers were all much more trustworthy than mine. Thankfully, although highly amused by my plight, they were much more easily convinced of my integrity.
I spent that night worrying about what I could possibly have done that would offend a lock. Had it perhaps joined forces with the CCTV and seen me inadvertently slip a company pencil in my shirt pocket?
The next day I was determined to try again and by being polite to it all day, was rewarded with the occasional (although not guaranteed) click. Wednesday, we were back on speaking terms and by the end of the week we were old buddies, our differenced forgotten.
Happy that my social standing had been fully restored I was able to tackle the weekend DIY confident that my hi-tech disagreement was firmly behind me.
Wrong – Monday morning dawned and once again ‘click’ was replaced by ‘beep’. I was on the point of reaching for the screwdrivers when the penny dropped. It was the DIY that was to blame. The lock was trying to examine my fingerprint to determine who I am. I had spent the last two weekends rubbing down some wood work and in the process I’d managed to sand off my dabs. It took until Wednesday for them to grow back.
At my place of work some of the doors are protected by biometric locks. These are intended to examine some body part or other to decide if you should be allowed the privilege of entry. Until recently this has required the placing of a finger on a little red glowing pad.
It all worked very well for some time, no keys to search for, just touch, a two second pause, then ‘click’ and your in.
Great, a very impressive system until one Monday morning the expected click was replaced by an unfriendly beep. Repeated attempts were met with more beeping and a brief messag
e on the little green screen, which amounted to ‘I don’t know you – push off’.Without ceremony, I found myself reduced from a lofty position of respectability and privilege to nothing more than a common man off the street. Somewhere in its silicon pea brain it had decided that over the weekend I had turned into the UK’s least trustworthy citizen.
There was no persuading it - it wasn’t interested in my pleadings, it wasn’t interested in my company pass, driving licence, passport or a recent utility bill with my name and address on it. It refused to be bribed or blackmailed and was immune to eventual threats of violence.
With my dignity stripped from me I had to throw myself on the mercy of passing colleagues whose fingers were all much more trustworthy than mine. Thankfully, although highly amused by my plight, they were much more easily convinced of my integrity.
I spent that night worrying about what I could possibly have done that would offend a lock. Had it perhaps joined forces with the CCTV and seen me inadvertently slip a company pencil in my shirt pocket?
The next day I was determined to try again and by being polite to it all day, was rewarded with the occasional (although not guaranteed) click. Wednesday, we were back on speaking terms and by the end of the week we were old buddies, our differenced forgotten.
Happy that my social standing had been fully restored I was able to tackle the weekend DIY confident that my hi-tech disagreement was firmly behind me.
Wrong – Monday morning dawned and once again ‘click’ was replaced by ‘beep’. I was on the point of reaching for the screwdrivers when the penny dropped. It was the DIY that was to blame. The lock was trying to examine my fingerprint to determine who I am. I had spent the last two weekends rubbing down some wood work and in the process I’d managed to sand off my dabs. It took until Wednesday for them to grow back.
At least I had a half decent excuse to avoid the DIY, or so I thought until I turned up one morning to find a fiendish new piece of kit guarding a cupboard door..