Log In to Continue

Steven X, an old schoolmate I’ve reconnected with on Facebook, recently vented derision upon the companies of the travel industry that presume that every traveler is ripe for subjection to a survey, as if a right to his time is some sort of adjunct to his doing business with them. This got me thinking about the often similarly unjustifiable appropriation of our personal time: the login.

I’m talking about the incalculable number of truly insignificant websites that insist you create a logon and password (for security purposes?!) to peruse their site. Sites that sell anything from doggy accessories, to the web extensions of local news outlets, and everything in between.

Steven travels quite a bit so the surveys are his pet peeve, but mine is data-collecting under the guise overreacting, overzealous, or overreaching security policies – almost always trumpeted as a measure implemented “for my safety”.

I've come to take it personally. The audacity of a company to posit that the simple existence of their firm transcribes into an ipso-facto right to my personal details because I wish to enjoin them in custom? I don't think so.

Some people tell me this is not really a problem and that I’m overreacting myself here, however, since I was compelled to create a database to store the logon information of all the websites that I do visit where I cannot escape this info-snare (because I’ve decided that the value of their product or service exceeds my desire for privacy), I can substantiate the volume with real numbers: 174. That’s correct. In my database I have (as of this writing) 174 login/password combinations for accessing sites I’ve had reason to do business with. Some of them legitimately merit security precautions, like my bank accounts. All told my database contains about 25 sites that I would collectively label as sensitive, requiring some sort of coded access; my pharmacy prescription service for example. I’m not talking about those.

I’m referring to the rest of the 149 or so sites I’ve frequented in the last few years that do not pose a security risk. As a rule (marketers, pay attention now please) if I land at a website while searching for something, and the site asks me to create an ‘account’ to continue, they’ve just lost my business. I go to their competitor. For those company officers that have subscribed to the lie given to them by the marketing department, that sign-ons increase sales because it gives the company detailed demographics with which to either tailor their market or methods, I wish to tell you this: you didn’t even know you missed me. Where’s the data for that?

Some sites get it right. They let me choose between ordering online with simply an address and a method of payment, or they let me create an account, often giving back to me information that I might want such as ordering history. Let’s look at some of the others though, I’ll start with utilities. “Utilities,” you ask? Certainly utilities should be secure, right? My answer: why? Why do I need to ‘sign-in” to pay any bill at all? If I know the account number and I have a method of payment, why can’t I just send money to that account? My water company (like everyone else) requires detailed personal information to sign into their site. More information actually, than what was actually required to sign up for water service to begin with. Why do they want my birth date or my mother’s maiden name? Is my water consumption really a security concern somewhere? There’s someone out there trying to calculate the number of baths I’ve taken, is that it? Are the soap and shampoo companies spying on me?

Look at it this way: if you were shopping along main street and, upon trying the door of a shop you were interested in, instead of opening for you to walk in, the door shifts just a crack and you’re instead greeted by a shifty looking individual who, after casting his eyes up and down the street, whispers conspiratorially, “Who are you”, would you enter?

The majority of errant sites that want my personal information do allow me to fill a metaphorical shopping cart before asking for actual details about me - that’s true. But this is where the hairs split because too many of them won’t reveal the deal breaker in any online transaction – taxes and shipping – until I create that account. No way. To do business with me you only need two things: my money and an address. You got me this far only to pull the “create an account to continue” before telling me how much you are actually going to charge me? That’s a transparent attempt at surreptitious data collection, you’ve wasted my time, and for that you’ve just lost another customer.

Thanks. No really; thanks a lot.

Am I the only one that stops to help people they don't know?

I was heading across the parking lot today after finishing up at a medical appointment. The hospital parking lot is really large and it’s a long walk. Just in front of my truck was a woman who was, having just parked, getting out of her own car. As I passed I notice a familiar sickly-sweet smell coming from around the front of her car: antifreeze! I turned to her and asked if she'd noticed any problems with her car; if it had been overheating on her. She told me that it did seem to be overheating so I asked if she’d mind if I checked under the hood to ensure she had enough radiator fluid for her drive home.

She thanked me, popped the hood, and I immediately found a leak on the back of her engine. I couldn’t do anything to fix it of course – not in a parking lot –  but I showed her where the leak was and told her to bring the car to her mechanic as soon as possible. Next I checked the fluid level and saw that it was empty. She had a small bottle of water which we added. She said she would bring out more after her appointment.

I got in my truck to leave, internally congratulating myself for stopping; I could have just passed on and let her fall to her own fate. It felt good to do a kind turn to a fellow human being even if I didn’t know her.  The whole effort took less than two minutes, which was about the time it would have taken her to get into the hospital had I not stopped to help. That‘s important here. It’s important because, as I sat in my truck and watched her walk away towards the hospital, the San Antonio heavens chose that moment to open and release on her an aerial deluge of cold, spring rain.

Debate

-->

"There I was..." is an opening shibboleth that usually discloses the military experience of a storyteller. It imbues in the knowledgeable reader foreshadowing that the narrative following will entail either great danger or (hopefully) great satire.  I can’t help thinking I should use it here.

Here’s the setup: in 2008 I was enrolled in a college class on Texas politics. Our final project was to be teamed with an opponent to debate a current political issue. We could choose our opponent but the professor chose the subject. My ‘opponent’ was my very good friend and ex-Marine, Tim. Our assignment was evolution versus intelligent design. The problem was, both of us recognized intelligent design for what it really was: creationism. So how could we debate a subject that--to us--only had one side?

Tim and I discussed our dilemma: how was one of us supposed to argue a point of view neither of us believed in? Now Tim is a very easy going guy who rarely gets on a soapbox unless it helps him hang his laundry. On the other hand there’s me. I can get emotional about any subject to the point of (apparent) fanaticism. Apparent is the key word though, because political evangelizing is a form of emotional expurgation for me that leaves me empty and refreshed. My real friends just ignore me while I’m at it.

Since it was impossible for Tim to become passionate about a subject he thoroughly dismissed it was decided that I would get stuck with intelligent design. For my preparation, I read three recent books and countless articles in support of my subject. I believed I saw a pattern emerging and so I went to Tim with an idea.  “Tim,” I said, “the crux of the intelligent design argument seems to be biological subterfuge coupled with vociferous emotional frenzy.” I saw in the arguments employment of just about every form of logical fallacy from begging the question to straw men. I said to Tim, “This is the answer. My side of the argument has to employ the same methods theirs do. In this way I can ‘honestly’ present their ideas as if I solemnly believed them.”

I wrote my argument. The night before our presentation however, I had a crisis of conscience; what if I did a real good job? What if I actually persuaded anyone to my position? Could I live with that? I wasn’t sure I could so I came up with a plan.

The day arrived and Tim and I turned in the written portion of our presentations and asked permission to go last.  When our time came, Tim went first, tediously (as planned) explaining with 35 PowerPoint slides why evolution was the source of life on planet earth. When he was done and the class was soundly asleep, I stepped, not to the podium, but the center of the room. Tim started my slides and after a heartbeat of dramatic pause I began.

Countering the urge to adopt the accent of a Southern Baptist Preacher, I terrorized my audience with science. I marched about the room, gesturing emphatically as I made my most salient points. I shouted, cajoled, ridiculed and (several times) banged on the desks of the students around me as I stalked their hearts and minds as if they were my prey. My voice alternated sotto voce through crescendo as I clearly assayed that science itself proves the existence of an intelligent creator at the heart of all living things.

While all these shenanigans were going on, Tim was quietly circulating around the room a printed sheet of paper. He carefully did not share any with our professor. Written on the papers was a greeting by me followed by a rebuttal of my own arguments, along with a disclosure of my presentation methods. I revealed the fallacy behind each ironclad fact I was purporting to present. I explained to my fellow students that passion in a debate was a not a substitute for reality, and that anytime they heard it, they should immediately suspect the authenticity of the argument. After we concluded, we turned over a copy of the rebuttal to the Professor and filed out of the class with the rest of the students.

In retrospect I guess it was wrong of us to use the debate to propel a completely different agenda on our classmates; why it’s important to suspect any argument regardless of subject, and that charisma and style were not substitutes for facts. But Tim and I were much older than our scholastic brethren who averaged a remarkable 19 or so and we felt that gave us some license.

It was several days before our grades were posted but apparently the instructor felt the same. We got an A.