my computer’s big fat foot in the door….
I occasionally wet my whistle in the fine taverns of Stanwoodopolis where I got a bartender who invariably asks me if I want a particular beer, hoping to curry favor by remembering what I might have had the last time. Doesn’t much matter that she doesn’t know my name, just my brand of brew. Some folks like this kind of consumer familiarity, maybe makes them feel welcome, a family member in their drinking society. Me, I don’t much care for it.
My computer is doing the same thing. Says hello by name even, then pops up stuff like what I looked at recently. Shows me a picture, what it costs, maybe a special sale. If I ever actually buy something on-line, my computer starts ringing, flashes lights, looks like a Vegas Jackpot. It figures I’m a genuine, bona fide Consumer and it knows my brand, my preferences, my price bracket, my sales soft spot. Maybe some folks like this. Me, I hate it.
Welcome, I guess, to the new world of capitalism. Kind of like having a salesman coming to your door, only he doesn’t have to knock, he just uses the key he took from you and comes right on in. Every day. Every week. From here on out. The Kirby vacuum guy can test drive his product forever. Slam the door on him, he’ll be right back. My computer now is a 24/7 Home Shopping Channel and I don’t even have cable. I suppose there are folks who appreciate this service, but I sure never met them.
Most of us didn’t bargain for this when we bought a computer and wired up to the internet. I didn’t read the fine print, apparently, but it must have had some subclause about the right to invade my privacy, sell my information, keep records on me and set up shop in my house like some kind of shirt-tail relative who goes to my refrigerator, grabs himself a snack and offers me a beer. Knows what brand I like. Just helping out. Unlike my bartender, though, he’s never leaving….
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