Yesterday morning a polite young man in a crisp blue shirt stopped by my house to fix the internet. Although he assured me that the company offered personalized service to everyone since the big merger, I believe they were just fed up with my whining when I used Google Docs on the internet.
“I’ll check the signal quality and the wires first,” he said.
I showed him the basement closet that hid the blinking boxes and cables, and I stepped back as he traced the wires with a meter from his satchel.
“Did you hook these up yourself?” he asked, as he unplugged the cables from the blinking boxes.
“Yup. Would you like a coffee?” I asked. “It looks like this will take a little while.”
“Yes, please,” he answered with a grin. “But it won’t take very long.”
I poured the coffees just as he came up the basement stairs. “The wires and the signals are just fine,” he declared as he opened his laptop on the kitchen table. “Could we review your internet and data usage? You know, a lot of problems are caused by the way consumers engage with their devices.”
“I’m all-in if it helps to fix the problem,” I answered and I sat on the chair across from him.
“Your IP reports indicate that you have several devices and a computer. How are they working for you?”
“My IPad crashes every two minutes and it’s driving me crazy. My computer is fine, but Microsoft says I should buy a new one soon. Do you think that’s the problem?”
“Partially, but there’s more to it,” he answered. He studied his screen. “I see that you have a dozen Linked-In requests that you haven’t answered. They must have sent sixty-four reminders that you haven’t even bothered to read,” he said.
“I don’t know anyone in the Antarctic,” I answered.
“So how do you think these people feel? They’re halfway across the globe, and patiently waiting for your response. Maybe they’re looking at their phone every few minutes to see if you answered yet,” he said as he shook is head. “You turned off the notifications on your phone and Facebook and Messenger. Just imagine the amount of bandwidth you’re burning up and think the great friendships you’re missing out on.”
“I never thought of it that way,” I murmured. I hoped that he wouldn’t find many more problems. But he was swiping his computer screen in rapid fluid motions with his hand, so I knew there was more to come.
“You’re all over the place with your Facebook posts and groups too. You get posts from ‘Republicans for Trump,’ ‘Democrats for Imprisoning Trump in Guantanamo
“That’s how I stay current.”
“I get that, but how is anyone supposed to know what advertising to send you? The magazine people must be going nuts when they see your data. Their servers are probably overheating just trying to figure it out. And how can you get meaningful job postings from Linked-In if you don’t read their articles?”
“But I don’t want a paying job. I’m a writer,” I protested.
“You don’t read your emails either. How many upgrade offers do we have to send before you’ll read them? You even ignore our text offers.”
“I deleted them. I didn’t think it would hurt anyone.”
“I know you mean well, but we store those emails and texts. We have to keep re-sending them if you don’t act on them.” He stopped swiping his screen and whistled softly as he studied it again. “What’s with the guitar strings?”
“I took a picture of them on my phone so I would know which ones to buy. The old ones broke. Why do you ask?”
“The guitar strings really get to the heart of your problem,” he explained. “I see that Amazon sent an email offer for the same strings an hour after you took the photo, but you deleted that email. Then they sent that offer by text, and you deleted that too. They finally offered a ridiculous price and free shipping on Facebook, but you didn’t click on that either.”
I interrupted him. “How does an online retailer know about my guitar strings? Why did I get those ads in the first place?”
“It’s pretty standard,” he answered. “You agreed to share your photos when you clicked on the terms of service on the phone, or in the browser, or in an app, or on your backup--it’s in there somewhere. How else can our partners deliver meaningful advertising and top-notch service? But let’s get back to the guitar strings that you didn’t buy. I see that you went to a music store, but I don’t see a record of payment.”
“I paid cash. How do you know I went to a music store?”
“GPS, your terms of service allow access to your GPS. It’s in there somewhere. Your GPS does more than just help you to find your way in a new neighbourhood, you know. Your GPS enables us to maintain the highest service standards when you’re out and about. You wouldn’t want to get emails for hotels in Vancouver when you’re actually in Boston
“No, I guess not,” I answered. I felt a new appreciation for the word ‘Luddite.’
“I could go on,” he said as he snapped is laptop shut, “but look at it this way. Think of the people hovering over their computers at Starbucks all over the globe waiting, with baited breath, for you to answer their friend requests. Imagine armies of marketing technicians monitoring endless rows of computers only to see if you’ve upgraded yet. That vast data exchange slows your internet. Now, if you would only answer, they would simply celebrate and move on. I think it would speed things up tremendously.”
That evening, over family dinner, I announced that I planned to cancel my cell phone.
“How are we supposed to know where you are?” They cried out in unison.
“How will you do bank transfers?”
“How will you let your friends know when you finish a new story?”
“You never answer your phone as it is. That will only make it worse.”
My resolve broke down completely when my one-year-old granddaughter broke into tears, and at that moment I understood that becoming a Luddite will be tougher than I thought.
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