1984 and All That...

I'm sure that, unless you've been on a deserted island thanks to Gilligan, you probably have seen all the news reports about our government's access to our phone records.  For years I have had an aversion to phones, probably since watching movies like "When A Stranger Calls" and other B-rated cinema classics.  So, I'm going to admit right here and now that I'm not too worried about this.  Heck, I'm probably the most boringest (<--clearly made up word) person on the face of the planet when it comes to calling/being called/conversations/texting and all phone usage.  Too bad they aren't looking at my Angry Birds app usage.  If they ever find a connection between Angry Birds usage and the most-wanted, I will absolutely be pretty high on that ticket.

This did get me thinking, however, about the things that strangers know about us that we never seem to complain about.

My local Starbucks sees me just about every day.  I order the same thing.  In fact, I am so predictable, they often just start making my drink when I walk in the door.

It can throw them for a loop when I order, oh, let's say, a green tea lemonade sweetened, instead of my grande wholemilk hazelnut latte.  (To set the record straight here, my husband really screwed up my Starbucks "Cheers" thing I had going on, when he started being COMPLICATED in his order and getting his latte with "no foam, extra hot."  Now, for some reason, the barristas think I want mine that way too and I've become way too wordy ordering a grande wholemilk hazelnut no-I'm-not-the-one-who-likes-it-no-foam-extra-hot latte.)  So here, clearly, is a piece of information that many people know about me from this one organization.  (Pssssttttt.....this is what SHE orders!)

The other day I drove up to Pet Supplies plus to purchase some dog supplies.  Dog food (canned and dry), cat food, doggy treats, etc.  We just added six baby chicks to our household and they are living the high life in our downstairs 1/2 bath.  It's reminiscent of a tailgate event in there, short of the keg parties.  I decided to buy them some meal worms, since I read that I could start introducing them to certain treats soon.  I get up to the check out counter and the young lady is ringing me through.  I am one of those card-carrying members they see every week like clockwork.  Suddenly she picks up the jar of meal worms, crinkles her nose, looks at me and asks "so who are these for?  You don't usually buy these."  (Pssssssttttt......she bought MEAL WORMS!!!! What is she building in her basement?)  I explained the chick treat and all was right with the world.  No investigative reporters met me outside. (I found a great link about raising your own mealworms, which I may try so as not to raise suspicions any further about my mealworm activity.)

Every day on line I'm being traced and tracked and 117 cookies are deleted every night when my scanning system goes into overdrive on my computer.  Spybot warns me every third google search that some ungodly activity is going on behind the scenes. And Amazon?  Forgeddaboutit. 

They know when you've had kids, how many, what their ages are now and when to send them a birthday card.

My hairdresser used to record my color next to my name in a little book when I got my hair colored.

The supermarket keeps track of ALL my purchases and every time I return to the check out with a new order, an appropriate coupon appears with my receipt reminding me that I liked General Mills cereals the last time I shopped.

If we went back through all the things that are accumulated on just me every single day we'd have a profile to make NCIS records envious.  So maybe tomorrow, when I go to Starbucks I'll order a tall half-skinny half-1 percent extra hot split quad shot (two shots decaf, two shots regular) latte with whip.  That ought to throw them for a loop!

Aaaarrrrroooooo!!!!!