Permanent key, permanent key! I already know it! But how do I get it? Mariano wonders. The Social Security Treasury portal tells you that it is easy and that you just have to follow the instructions. Cheer up, Mariano! He fills in the boxes with the name and surname, the address, the DNI, the SS number (these two S’s are distressing), which is very long and he must be careful and not make mistakes, because if not, he must start over. The website explains everything very politely and adds that he does it for security reasons; that he does it for his own good. My good? The holy balls! Mariano blasphemes, he’s not swearing, but he’s been moving around the web in circles for two long hours and he’s up to… Shut up! Now the page has changed and yes… it seems that the thing works. Checking data, he says, while a few little squares very slowly fill a bar that looks like a fever thermometer.
Mariano has a headache. Having come this far deserves a coffee with milk. She goes to the kitchen and prepares it sparingly; he likes it with the exact amount of coffee and milk, because he knows that this combination, achieved after many years of testing, is infallible. With the aroma wafting through the house and the hot cup in his hands, Mariano sits down at the computer and oh, surprise! The page has left him stranded, and Mariano begins the understandable gestures of throwing away the mouse (no, it cost me a lot of money; it’s ergonomic), hitting the screen (ugh, no, I spent a lot of money) and crashing the computer (stop, man, stop, you still pay it in installments), but he regrets it when he has it in his hands.
The web page tells him that he has done it for his own good, for his safety, etc., and Mariano starts the whole procedure, maddened. Because he knows the steps by heart, he executes them with incredible speed and precision and counts the time spent earlier as well spent. He goes where he has never gone before and a nice button invites him to Accept. He presses it. Oh surprise! He has accessed the next screen. A message: Hello, Mariano, you will receive the PIN on your mobile. Good! The artificial intelligence has learned his name, in order to gain his trust. But Mariano does not lower his guard.
Biiiip, the mobile alerts you, which informs you that, with the PIN you have received, you must send an SMS, along with the access code, which very kindly explains how to obtain it. Mariano’s glasses nervously slide down his nose. The access key is circumstantial and only serves to obtain the permanent key, which is the closest thing to the master key that opens all doors and will take you forever, free and safe, through the stormy waters of virtual administration. And he asks her for an already familiar step, which is to put all the data back in, which Mariano executes with the confidence of a pianist until a new screen, a new world, unfolds before his eyes. But he needs the entry key, which cannot be obtained if he is not registered; but to enroll he needs the permanent key, which he can’t get with the PIN he was given before, because for security reasons…
Mariano gets angry and enters six numbers at random. A red alarm pops up on top of the computer, accusing you of wanting to hack into the system. He orders her to identify herself. He does. But the program, now very quickly, answers that there is no one named Mariano Nieves León. He, who is an introspective person, who has put his idiosyncrasies and even the core of his existence to the test and internal debate, is convinced that the system, which takes him back to the home page, is wrong. Enter all the data again and again and again, with the stubbornness of a censor, the administrative gear responds that the names and surnames are not those of the DNI, nor the address, nor the SS card… There is no Mariano Nieves León in our database, repeats obstinately. You are violating national security law, he warns.
And if I’m not me? And if, perhaps, at some point in which I have written my data, I put others? We are made of perishable matter, therefore unstable, changing…
Heavy knocks on the door and shouts to open up to the police, uttered in a voice that accumulates many hours locked up in the police van, break Mariano’s musings. He pales. He is an informed person and knows how the minister of the branch spends it with those who do not have papers.
