Is Your Toaster Up-To-Date? How To Protect Yourself From Identity Theft
It can happen to anyone.
Carl Jenkins, a senior engineer in cyber-security, was flabbergasted last Thursday by a critical breach in his smart home’s defenses. He lost over $500,000 and now can’t afford his second summer home.
Upon checking his bank account, he saw the funds were deposited to a certain “donatetomycharity” with a winking, tongue-out emoji. “What kind of sick joke is this,” Jenkins grimaced. "Whoever they are, they are damn good."
As one in his line of work might do, he immediately covered his bases. He checked that his computer, phone, and apps are up-to-date and secured, then moves on to changing his e-commerce passwords—all of which he keeps blockchain-encrypted.
With a sense of having saved a sinking ship by plugging a hundred leaks with chewing gum, he sinks into his smart couch and checks his bank account once more.
To his horror, another $200,000 had been deposited to that vile creature known as “donatetomycharity.” This time it’s followed by a GIF of a robot performing lewd acts with a safe. That cheeky bastard. Now, Jenkins will have to sell his first summer home—a fate worse than death, some in his circle might say.
His mind reeled and convulsed, like someone trying to channel Christ’s energy on national television. He takes in his surroundings—the smart lamp, the smart oven, the smart toilet, the smart couch beneath him, and the smart end table next to him…then it dawns on him. The smart toaster, eToast!
Earlier that week, he had grown tired of being on the “freemium” plan. He wanted to make his toast ad-free and have access to the 250 premium settings he was taunted with daily. He had caved and used his debit card to buy a subscription, and in his haste entered his information directly into the toaster…
Perhaps if he had drank his smart coffee first, he would have remembered to download the app and securely enter his payment information there…
“That must be it,” he thinks—as he pulls a dumb-hammer out of the smart-junk-drawer. His eye twitches, and a vein throbs in his periphery. At that moment, all 23 years of his career in tech collapses into a singularity of unhinged rage. Carl snaps.
He starts with the toaster—a tentative tap that gives way to smashing it again and again while it makes a feeble attempt to queue up a composer it thinks he’ll like.
He moves to the couch—a formidable opponent if only armed with a hammer. But he makes due. His couch continues to adjust its firmness to the bitter end.
Then the lamp. Then the toilet. A cacophony of metal, porcelain, fabric, and plastic being bludgeoned to the wilting and abrasive cadence of tinny, robot voices nagging Carl about the weather. Or his blood pressure. Or attempting to play his favorite music.
This continues for some time, and in a berserker-frenzy that would make a Viking warlord proud, Carl decimates every appliance in his smart home. (A smart couch is now considered an appliance.)
In a triumphant daze, he stands amidst the carnage. Like a rabies-stricken silverback gorilla who had just killed his entire clan.
His chest heaves; accumulated froth on the corners of his mouth trail down his sweat-stained button-up. With bloodshot eyes, he looks down and sees his trembling hand holding a jug of gasoline. Entranced, he watches it tip forward and spill forth its contents onto the carpet—admiring how the golden liquid reflects the sparks of his dead and dying smart devices…
And to the tune of his mangled toaster croaking Ride of the Valkyries, Carl’s psychotic break meets its fiery end.
