That crowd following you? It’s creepy, not comforting.
Originally published in January 2006, The Daily Sentinel, Grand Junction, Colo.
There’s this series of TV commercials airing on channels around the clock, showing people who’ve purchased a cell-phone service being followed around by a crowd.
Naturally, the people are initially concerned when they see this smiling bunch, but when they find out it exists to keep an eye on their new phones – to make sure they can use the devices to reach or be reached anytime, anywhere – they figure they got a good deal and are happy to let the herd follow wherever they go.
Man, that’s creepy.
Turn it from color to black and white, add some ominous music, wide eyes and a shriek, it would make a pretty decent classic “Twilight Zone” episode. Heck, take off his thick glasses and you’ll see the “can you hear me now” guy even looks kind of like Rod Serling.
Privacy has become a confusing thing for me. I want to be able to say to the world, “You can know this much about me and no more.” There’s a public version of me and a private one. I even have what I call a “secret identity” of sorts because the name I use in everyday life isn’t exactly the same as the one I use to endorse my paycheck.
That’s all I’m going to say about that, although I doubt many would really care to know more. Believe me, I recognize I’m not all that interesting, and I sure don’t have anything worth stealing. The most valuable thing in my wallet is a tooth-shaped reminder note for my next dental appointment.
Like most people, I prefer to keep to myself.
But I also have Internet access both at home and at work, and now I read that Google might have some kind of record of every search I’ve ever made. I use a handful of e-mail accounts. I’ve registered to participate in several Internet forums. I have a credit card and a bank account. I’ve bought music from iTunes. Much as I loathe them, I even have one or two store loyalty cards.
Of course, all of this means I’ve entrusted strangers with information about myself I’d think twice about sharing with some shadier extended family members.
How odd it is that while our love of technology connects us in uncomfortable ways to strangers, we’re so often disconnected from the people who’d traditionally be friends: Our neighbors.
The first house my wife, Lisa, and I owned was a brand-new place in a brand-new subdivision. The first thing you saw as you approached our place – and every other home in the area – was the great big garage. Ours held two cars, some of our neighbors’ were big enough for three, and the walls of those garages were as much as we saw of the interior of most of their houses.
Our yards, without exception, were small.
The neighborhood was so claustrophobically spaced that the people there did everything they could to hide from each other. We all built tall privacy fences and it seemed that on the rare occasions we actually saw our neighbors outdoors, they were determined not to notice we were there.
We’d go weeks in which the most we’d see of the folks next door was when they drove past our house, keying the remote control to activate their garage door opener. If we watched, we might catch a glimpse of a lower leg stepping out of the car as the garage door closed again.
How odd to think that every day these strangers slept, ate, laughed and cried less than 50 paces away. They seemed like nice enough people when we actually spoke, but I don’t even remember their names anymore.