In the end, we gave up without a fight, although I certainly
thought there should have been at least some shouting and perhaps a bit of
minor bloodshed. Instead we quietly acquiesced, meekly retreating with our
pocketbook in better shape, even if our souls took a fatal thrashing. Even my
acidic wit failed me, delivering a single half-hearted glancing blow that the
whole thing “…seemed a bit 1984-ish.” “Well, it’s just a little thing,” the agent
countered, “and these things are already everywhere. You know, our cars used to
have a computer in it. Now they are computers on wheels.” It was a line no doubt recited
verbatim from his copy of the preparatory study guide provided by his own
corporate overlords entitled “How to handle moral objections”. It still didn’t
make me feel any better. I was selling out and deep down inside it hurt. Besides,
I have a much greater respect for cars than to consider them computers on
wheels. Also, I’ve never seen a computer go 100 mph (even when tossed out of a
window).
The source of my moral outrage and anguish is a tiny little
device that I will attach to the data port in my automobile. It will then be
monitored via a satellite link-up by my insurance provider to see if I exceed
the speed limit by a significant amount, or take corners too fast, or brake too
quickly. Rational reflection on my part concedes that I really shouldn’t care.
My days of going double the posted speed limit are far behind me (but if you put me behind
the wheel of a new Porsche or a Mercedes S63 on the German autobahn, all
bets are off). I’m almost positive the little econobox I drive couldn’t do so even
if I wanted it to (at least at freeway speeds). I have a short commute to work,
mostly down the main street in the small city where I live, and I pass the
police station at the town square along the way. I plan my time sensibly and
drive without significant haste. I’m fairly certain the folks who monitor such
things for the insurance company will be bored senseless by my behavior behind
the wheel. The end result of this whole thing that is currently causing me to
reach for my antacids is that we will save a significant amount of money from
our always escalating insurance bill. It’s always about money, isn’t it?
Now I have a vivid imagination, which I allow to wander
freely. Suppose that when the yuletide holidays roll around again that I find
myself seated at the bar of our local Quaker
Steak and Lube, quaffing a pint or two of Great Lakes Christmas Ale in
fellowship with my friends. If my monitored automobile sits for too long in the
parking lot, will my insurance babysitters inform the local constabulary that I
may be contemplating driving while tipsy? Or perhaps they might pass the
information along to their health insurance division and warn them that I may
be inside consuming one of those greasy stacks of onion rings that is served on
a repurposed car antenna, risking clogged arteries, heart disease, or stroke.
You see, that’s the first problem with innocuous little
devices that we allow to intrude into our lives for one simple purpose, like
saving us money. I know that the reason the insurance company wants to attach
it to my car isn’t really to save me
money. The true purpose is to save them
money. Because it’s always about money, isn’t it? The second problem is that
such innocuous little devices, once attached, may take on other roles that we
weren’t informed about, or may not approve of. Like monitoring my consumption
of onion rings (which really isn’t even an issue, but that doesn’t mean it can’t
piss me off) or just knowing where I go, or how long I stay.
So what should we do about innocuous little devices in our
lives? The first thing I’m going to do is run up to the library in my as yet
unmonitored vehicle and pick up a copy of George Orwell’s 1984 to
reread. I kind of wonder if Orwell would be saying “I-told-you-so” about the
way things are these days, or would he be saying “WTF!!! You let it happen?” Keep
yourself informed, and if something is bothering you, speak up. Keep reading,
expand your mind, and seek knowledge. We are letting the “smart devices” in our
lives make us dumber, and the really smart people are laughing at us the whole
time. And by the way, if the Thought Police are listening in, go screw
yourselves.
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
From “The Hollow
Men” by T S Eliot
