Suburbia @ Large

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

I Can't Get No Data Privacy

It's pretty annoying when a retail store associate asks for your phone number or your zip code when you are buying even so little as a pack of gum.   Usually I respond with a friendly smile and some pleasant form of "Oh, do you really need that? 'Cause I'd rather not give that information".

This satisfies most store associates. In my experience, most store associates could care less whether or not you give them your information. They don't even blink when you give them the fake "555-5555" phone number. In fact, I sense that the majority of them are embarrassed about even having to solicit this personal information from complete strangers in the first place, which makes me feel bad for them and annoyed for me and all around angry at THE MAN for the whole stupid idea.

But tonight... well, tonight's retail shopping experience takes the Data Privacy cake. (If there actually was some sort of cake for Data Privacy. Which there probably isn't. But there should be, because cake is one of life's greatest joys. Actually it's icing that is the most joyful part of cake, but let's put the subject of cake and how great it is on hold for another blog entry entirely, shall we?).

So anyway, tonight I went into a store called Motherhood/Maternity to exchange an item. I placed both items (the paid-for item and the exchange item) on the counter and explained what I wanted to do, and here is what happened:

Clerk: (Goes to the register/computer). Ok. First name?

Me: Uh --I paid cash for the original item.

Clerk: I still need your first name.

Me: (Smiling) Oh, I'd rather not give that information.

Clerk: (Types. Pauses.) I can't do this exchange without your first name.

Me: But I purchased the item without giving you my first name, so...

Clerk: -- I can't do it. It's making me put in a first name to get this into the computer.

Me: Well, I'm going to give you a fake name, then.

Clerk: Um --

Me: -- Just put 'F'.

Clerk: (Types. Pauses. Looks at computer.) Actually I need two letters.

Me: 'U'.

Clerk: (Types) Last name?

Me: Um... Rumsfeld.

Clerk:  Street address?

Me: 1 Pentagon Av -- look, do we really have to do this? I'm not trying to be difficult but I don't want to give out my personal information. Just enter fake information for me. I don't want to receive a ton of junk mail.

Clerk: (Now snitty) Actually it's not for junk mail.

Me: Then why do you need this personal information?

Clerk: Well, I don't know, ma'am. But we don't send you junk mail.

I just let that ridiculousness hang in the air for a while as she typed.

Clerk: Your due date?

Me: (Laughing) Why do you need -- look, I know it's not you, personally. Just make it up.

Clerk: Um --

Me: -- April 1st, 2010

Clerk: Husband's name?

Me: Seriously? -- Ok, Don. Actually Donny.

Clerk: Zip code?

Me: 00001

The merchandise exchange complete, she hands me my new merchandise and then hands me another, smaller plastic bag.

Clerk: And here is a gift bag for you on behalf of Motherhood/Maternity.

But as she hands me the little bag, which is clearly filled with nothing but paper flyers and coupons and more assorted crap that I don't need, she scans the bar code on the bag which, I'm sure, ultimately associates the whole bloody "gift" with Mrs. F. U. Rumsfeld in the Motherhood/Maternity database.

How can any store require this much information of a customer to exchange merchandise? And likewise, why would anyone in their right mind freely give this information to a complete stranger?

Now before you accuse me of a) long-time, recreational marijuana use-induced paranoia b) some form of paranoid schizophrenia, or c) rabid, Nader-esque libertarinaism, let me explain that the reason I am so beside myself over this is because HELLO HAS ANYONE EVER HEARD OF IDENTITY THEFT AND HOW THAT CAN SCREW UP YOUR ENTIRE LIFE?

If you normally give out personal information to stores, stop doing it for your own protection.

I work in the software field and I'm telling you that unless you know what to ask, you don't know anything about any organization's database security, or about their policies on sharing customer information with other stores or companies. ANY database is hackable. See, it costs a great deal of money for a company to invest in world-class database security. Until a company gets an idea that its stock prices are somehow connected to its database security then they have no reason whatsoever to invest large amounts of capital in world-class database security. So as long as you keep giving them your data without hesitation, they have no reason to invest in the security of your data privacy. Which means that you are vulnerable to identify theft.

To add insult to potential injury, if you have not signed or seen a store's data privacy policy, a store can can easily make money off of your personal data by selling it to other stores and to God knows who else. They are already making money off of you as a customer: they don't need to make more money off of your personal information by treating this data as a piece of merchandise that they can buy and sell long after your transaction is over. But I digress because junk mail and unsolicited sales calls to your house are not the real issue here. Identity theft is the real issue. All it takes is for one person to hack their database, steal your personal information and your credit is screwed for the next 10 years. Not to mention the hours of your life that will be lost in trying to redeem your financial integrity.

Maybe if everyone started to be as bitchy as I am about it then the stores (or at least the store associates) will stop asking, or, alternatively, perhaps the store will graciously offer to share their Data Security & Privacy Policy with you before you decide to divulge your identity.   Maybe that's what I'll do. Maybe I'll start asking to see their Data Privacy & Security policy.

Poor store associates. It's not their fault and I don't want to give them a hard time, but if my choice is angering a store associate versus having my identity stolen, well then it looks like they are going to go home with a story about one incredibly bitchy customer.  And believe me when I tell you that hell hath no fury like a 9+ months-pregnant , sleep-deprived woman.

Wow, two blog posts in two days. I'm on a roll!

Posted at 10:26 pm by Suburbia
Comments (8) Link here

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Husbandly Night Patrol Duty

Fabulous Husband has earned his title for many reasons, not the least of which is his (nearly) enthusiastic embrace of Husbandly Night Patrol Duty. At any point during the night, Fab will awaken from a sound sleep at my behest to investigate a strange noise with not a trace of annoyance.

Night Patrol has been particularly busy this week. So far he's been deployed in two separate incidents; once to scare the raccoon off the deck (again), and later to conduct a search-and-destroy mission against a large moth flitting around the bedroom.

While both missions were ultimately successful, scaring the raccoon off the deck is taking increasingly more aggressive tactics. The raccoon is no longer frightened by the black magic involved in our turning on the porch light. Nowadays, when we flick the porch light swich he remains tightly draped around the wire mesh casing of the birdfeeder (in what is frankly a rather lewd manner), blinking at us as if to say "Oh come on. What else ya' got?". And really, beyond that, we recently realized that we've pretty much got nothing. If he could read lips, he'd know that we are standing there not 5 feet away in our bathrobes saying, "He's so cute, isn't he? I mean really, that is a cute animal. His little mask is just like...like a little robber's mask, see?!"

We needed to get back to bed, so in order to speed things along we knocked hard on the sliding glass door, which, instead of making the raccoon run from the deck, made the raccoon shove his paw inside the wire mesh of the bird feeder and continue his futile attempt to dig for seeds.

He is so over us.

Clearly the next step had to be more aggressive. It was only when Fabulous opened the sliding glass door that the raccoon sighed (I swear!), dropped his fat little body from the birdfeeder and ambled off the deck. He did not run, he ambled, even stopping once to sniff around the grill and paying no attention whatsoever to my "Shoo!" command.

With the raccoon gone, Fabulous's mission was accomplished for the night. But we don't know what the future holds, do we? What will he have to do next week to rid the deck of the raccoon? Go outside, stepping toward the potentially rabid (but at the very least bite-y) raccoon? What's a Northeast liberal to do? Throw popcorn at it? Reason with it? Sic the cat on it? Use a laser pointer? Stay tuned for next week's episode of Husbandly Night Patrol Duty.

That's all the news that's fit to print from Suburbia this week. Exciting, isn't it? Doesn't it make you want to go read a Big Fancy City Blog? Well go ahead then, I don't blame you. It makes me want to do the same.

Posted at 9:03 pm by Suburbia
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Saturday, April 02, 2005

School Mascots

The Lifetime made-for-TV movie that’s on at the moment features twenty-something year-old actors playing high school students. It’s so distracting; I can’t get past the fact that they all look like they have children of their own and yet here they are fighting with their "parents" about their Friday night curfew. Of course, in Lifetime TV-land they attend a sunny, all-white high school and all of the students are gorgeous, which means that it was nothing at all like our high school (except for the all-white part). Also the Lifetime TV movie football team has the perfect mascot (Tear ‘em up, Lions!) and a winning record, which, again, was nothing at all like our high school.

Our high school mascot was a terrier (see below).

That’s right: we fought under the guiding spirit of a willful, palm-sized dog who will grab onto your pant leg and pull and pull and pull until you shake your leg and send it flying across the foyer.

Do terriers have natural foes other than mailmen?

Do terriers fight very often?

Do terriers pack together, then strategize (see below) to lead their pack to victory?

One needn’t look further than our high school sports teams’ collective record to answer these burning questions.

I would also like to mention here that some unfortunate member of our high school cheerleading squad drew the short-straw job of climbing inside of a plastic and faux-fur “Toughie the Terrier” suit to animate the spirit of the terrier at games & pep rallies. I don’t remember exactly what Toughie did to channel this spirit, except to say that to her credit she did not run around pretending to bite people in the ankles. I vaguely recall some jumping around with a pompon (as terriers are wont to do), but watching it was too much like peering into someone’s most private agony. (We were a small school; Toughie had to eat in the cafeteria with the rest of us.) Sometimes I wonder whether the person in the Toughie suit has since managed to turn that experience into a confidently-told, delightful dinner party anecdote, or whether it’s something she is still working out with her therapist.

The funny thing is that having a terrier as a high school mascot was actually a huge step up from our elementary school mascot, which was a mule.

I am not making this up.

I guess the mule was selected because if you’re not careful mules will carry stuff for you.

Oh, it’s no laughing matter.

If you’re not watching your back, mules will go ahead and haul your ass down a canal, or carry your gold-digging tools to California. Do you know how difficult it is to locate an image of a mule that is not rendered in sepia?

Seriously, what was the school board thinking? Do I even need to even mention the whole “mule as jackass” fact? I was a cheerleader for our elementary school basketball team, and I still distinctly remember turning red with embarrassment while giving the “Hello’ cheer at Away games, a cheer which went a little something like this:

H! E! L! L! O!

Ready on the One!

Ready on the Two!

<Looooong pause while we accomplished a precarious human pyramid>

We Milford Mules say Hello …<clap, clap> … To… <clap, clap, point>…You!

Oh, imagine the fear we instilled in the opposing Cougars, Eagles, and the Stallions. Seriously, is that not a scene from a Christopher Guest movie? I have heard that my old elementary school has since changed their mascot, but I can’t confirm this rumor because the school is still so rural that even Google cannot locate any related information.

Due to my traumatic childhood experience with mascots I have, of course, already researched what our unborn daughter’s school mascots will be. I can’t find her elementary school mascot on the web, but I take comfort in the fact that I can, at least, find the school itself on the web, And her high-school mascot will be a Tiger. Yay.

Posted at 9:43 pm by Suburbia
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