Put your game face on and check your 401(k)

On Monday, on the baleful morn the National Bureau of Economic Research declared we're officially in a recession, I realized I couldn't put it off any longer.

It was time to check the balance on my 401(k).

I'd avoided this moment of truth for months, ever since the stock market took its first bungee jump into the abyss. I was overdue for a peek down there, to see what peeked back.

Later that evening, as I shuffled with dread toward my computer, I took a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. Unfortunately, this proved difficult, as my head was almost completely encased in bubble wrap.

In the retelling, I can see my preparations may seem excessive to you, perhaps odd. But, given the grim task ahead, I felt I had to take precautions.

There was, for instance, a distinct possibility that the sheer horror of what I was about to see would cause me to lose consciousness and send my oversized noggin kerplopping against my desk.

So protective headgear - particularly something that emitted a pop-pop-pop in an emergency - seemed prudent. One certainly doesn't want a concussion on top of a recession.

As I hurriedly poked bigger air holes around my mouth and nose - and wider eye holes, while I was at it - I realized that mobility also would be an issue.

I'd put on several layers of clothing - again, to cushion myself against a fall - but as I lifted my hands to the keyboard, I immediately regretted my decision to top it off with a bulky parka. Typing was going to be a real chore.

I don't know why I was so jittery, really. My family and I had already been through the drill several times. Well, I had, anyway. My wife and 10-year-old daughter had declared the entire exercise "goofy" and refused to participate in any of my dozen or so trial runs.

But our cat, still fairly new to the household, seemed mildly interested in my endeavors. If I were to keel over, I was reasonably certain he would meander across my chest sooner or later and awaken me - provided, of course, that his claws could cut through the parka.

Clumsily, my hands trembling, I began typing the address for the Web site I loathed - the cyber home of the investment firm managing my 401(k).

I feared not only what I might see but what I might do.

Long ago, I had divided my retirement savings into the recommended mix of stocks, bonds and canned goods. As the market began to implode, I knew it would be foolish to shift my money around to try to dodge losses. If I did, I'd end up living out my golden years in an uber-grumpy version of "Hi, welcome to Wal-Mart!"

As my PC crunched and whirred, my investment firm's Web site slowly began to take shape on the screen. After a dozen or so tries, I managed to remember my user name and my password, and I was logged in.

I braced myself for huge losses in my S&P 437 1/2 Fund, my Once-Emerging but Now Completely Receding Markets Fund and my Somalian Pirates Were Just Through Here Fund, among others.

Much to my surprise, I found no balance information whatsoever. No zeroes, no deficits, no barless bar graphs or pieless pie charts, no list of charities where I might seek help in my dotage.

Instead, I found "Pong."

Yep. My 401(k) had been replaced by the popular video game from the recession-era 1970s. As best I can tell, Atari is now managing my retirement savings. With a paddle.

At first, I pondered who I should call to investigate. The SEC? The FBI? Pac-Man?

But, in time, I made peace with Wall Street. For rest of the evening, I played Pong against the wall, a post-bubble boy in bubble wrap and a bubble of cushions, soothed by the blip-bloop-blip of my youth.

At least that's how I'll remember my 401(k).

You can actually go look yours up if you want.

Daryl Lease is an editorial writer for The Virginian-Pilot. E-mail him at daryl.lease@pilotonline.com.