I’m 81 years old and someone hacked my Facebook account

The guy in the photo didn’t look like me at all.

He was probably about 20 years younger — I’m closing fast on 82 — balding, and wearing a gray T-shirt a bit grubbier than I normally wear. The image was nondescript but decidedly unfamiliar.

So what on Earth was he doing as the new profile picture on my Facebook account? Why did he do it?

Two weeks later, I am no closer to an answer. I have experienced a mix of frustration and the fear that octogenarians and near-octogenarians often have about dealing with technology — or more accurately, seeking people who can help them deal with technology.

I have long become accustomed to dealing with companies who erect all sorts of barriers to human contact, wrapping the customer in an endless cocoon of useless FAQs. It reminds me of picking my way through barbed wire in a drill at Army boot camp.

But for technology, I wanted a human lifeline, which I found at Xfinity, Apple, HP, even the Fitbit on my wrist. If they did a good job, I religiously filled out the evaluation questionnaire.

But Facebook, it seemed, was different. There’s a basic Facebook hack where someone gets ahold of your contacts and tries to extract money from them. That’s easily remedied by changing your password and telling your friends you’ve been hacked.

But Mr. T-shirt was hack 2.0. The hacker had hijacked my entire profile. This was on a whole different level. And there seemed to be nothing — and no one — available at Facebook.com to help me deal with it.

In situations like this, there can at least be solace in finding out whether you’re alone. So I put a note on Bryn Mawr Neighbors, trolling for fellow victims.

Alone? Hardly.

Just one example:

“I know numerous people that this has happened to two of them very close to me. I tried to help them do anything and everything in their power over a period of about a month. I spoke to a dear friend that I have called, ‘The PC Man’ (the name of his business) who told me a long time ago that his job is much of, ‘keeping the bad guys out.’

“He was offered money, told me that he could not even accept money to do this, because he would fail. I actually walked into Verizon in Ardmore because I sort of have a friend there and he offered to help. And then he failed. two of my friends are photographers in [sic] lost 30,000 pictures. There was nothing they could do.”

Dejected, I emailed what purports to be Facebook’s press contact number — and received predictable silence. After all, they make their money from advertisers, not from freeloading users like me.

I should note that I’ve never been a Facebook addict. I go on perhaps once a week to catch up with friends, maybe post a challenging newspaper or magazine article, or, for example, a photo of me and my daughter on Father’s Day. I can also do without dozens of birthday greetings, each of which brings its own twinge of mortality and demands an individual reply.

Word has it that younger folks are already migrating to other services, most of which probably require a level of digital fluency and adaptability I’d have no hope of achieving.

Perhaps I should look into adopting a technologically savvy teenager as a grandchild (I don’t have any) or nephew (he lives too far away). I briefly considered starting a service to match teenagers with technologically obsolescing geriatrics like me.

Another possibility, suggested by one of my new Bryn Mawr Neighbors buddies:

“How about just shutting down your current Facebook page and creating a new one using your name for instance with a middle initial so it’s different and changing your password?”

» READ MORE: Facebook's (and tech's) other problem: lack of diversity | Opinion

This is technically feasible, I guess, but do I really want to contact each of my friends and tell them their new invitation is from me and not some guy in a greasy T-shirt and that it’s OK to confirm?

And, of course, there’s always the option of surrender, going gentle into that good night ... As a late and even older cousin of mine said when explaining his refusal to wear hearing aids:

“I’m 96 years old and I’ve heard enough!”

Paul Jablow is a former Inquirer reporter and editor, a resident of Bryn Mawr, and a card-carrying member of AARP. Pjablow@comcast.net