It's still January. We are staying true to our New Year's resolutions, it seems. Because the White Building was packed when I rolled in.

It was my first experience with the new locker combination system. And what an experience it was.

After signing in and waiting, I logged two miles on the treadmill, listened to music, absorbed the captions on the television screens.

Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of locker 106 trying to understand complicated directions for the retrieval of my coat.

I found the locker easily, and approached its unfamiliar combination lock with the aid of posted instructions. A hot pink sheet of paper instructed me: Turn a knob, set a combination, preferably a number memorable to me, scrambled the numbers, and take note of the locker. To open, enter the combination and turn the knob.

I remembered the locker and the combo, but I was having trouble. I enlisted the help of an employee. I could tell by her reaction that this happens often.

Before she allowed me to access the locker, she was going to have to ask me to identify what was inside. A blue coat, I replied.

She recognized the coat as I'd described it. She had satisfied her protective duty. And on my walk home, I contemplated. It was nice of her to extend a challenge; my coat was safe in the locker.

But think about it. All someone had to do was say there was a blue coat in the locker, and it was his or hers for the taking. Hmm.

Who else might have seen me stow my jacket in the locker? Who else might have walked out of the gym with it?

Another story may help you to understand the problem. A couple of weeks ago, my roommate Fee set aside an evening to attend a yoga class in the White Building.

At the conclusion of the class, she returned her mat, stepped into her shoes, and slipped out the door. She found her locker effortlessly, completed the combination, pulled the door open and gasped.

When Fee opened an empty locker, she had expected to find her bag, her jeans, her phone, and her mp3 player. But her eyes were met only with a dark void.

She brought the issue to the attention of the desk attendant, who called the police. She called her mother, the bank, etc. She tried calling her cell phone, to no avail -- the culprit had already turned it off.

Let's assume that someone in Fee's story asked a desk attendant help to access a locker. For the purpose of storytelling, we will call him or her Culprit. So Culprit "forgot" the locker number or the combination. Or, like me, he remembered both, but had difficulty. In any event, he or she saw the things that were within Fee's, and they were up for grabs. Considering that Fee's things were stolen and mine were not, I wonder how our experiences differed. Somehow, Culprit walked away with stolen treasure. A corduroy bag, brand new MP3 player, cell phone, ATM card. No one could really question whether Culprit had actually occupied the locker if he or she could identify an item inside.

It was that easy. Maybe this was because adaptation to the new locker system was so commonly met with confusion. In fact, Fee recalls this happening as she began to open her own locker. Another gym patron was requesting help with her combination. Who knows how many other times this happened that day. Or that week.

I understand that systems are tested for practicality and efficiency.

But what was wrong with the old locker system in the White Building? Gym-goers could locate a key, deposit their valuables, and pocket the key until the end of their workout.

It wasn't long ago that we'd leave our IDs with the front desk until we were finished running or lifting. We signed in, an attendant would scan our cards, and we hung them on the wall.

After exercising, we would return to the desk, sign out and receive our cards. This method seemed to employ the soundest security. I didn't once get my ID back without a solid identity confirmation - getting the once-over, checked by a glance at my photo ID.

Then this system was replaced with one of personal accountability -- cards are still scanned, but we are required to hold onto them during our workouts.

Things change -- systems change. Understandable? I guess.

Fee's family insurance policy only covers losses of more than $500. The rest of the value was a total loss; the White Building does not compensate for lost valuables. The police were of great help, though. Kudos to the police officers for communicating with maintenance guys who later found Fee's bag, cell phone, ATM card, and worn-in jeans in a trash can. But unfortunately, someone else is enjoying her Christmas present. Her iPod is gone.

As for the thief -- I believe in karma. I think that committing such an act never goes without repercussions.

And as for the system -- I think it leaves a little to be desired.