Tuesday, August 17, 2010

24 Hour Privacy



So, last weekend I went to work out, and my favorite young guy at the desk said in the very nicest way, that 24 Hour Fitness was now going to have everyone type in their phone number and then put their finger in a little machine so no one has to remember their i.d.'s anymore. I felt strange, but as so many other times in my life, I went ahead and did this and instantly regretted it.

Yesterday morning, my alarm clock radio woke me up to a story on KQED news about 24 Hour Fitness now having everyone give them their fingerprint to enter the gym. Reportedly, 24 Hour Fitness had 97% success rate with their customers, only 3% opting out. It haunted me all day long. Last night, I went and talked to my favorite young guy at the desk again and asked him to delete my fingerprint from the system and opt me out. He seemed taken aback and wondered why. I told him that I don't even let Safeway know what I'm buying, that I value my privacy. He didn't get it.

After my workout, I went back to see him and told him the story of the Palo Alto kids who, when they were young, went to Farrell's Ice Cream and signed up a whole bunch of phony names and birthdates so they could get free ice cream cones every month. Years later, those phony names received notices that it was time for them to sign up for the draft. I tried to explain to my favorite young guy at the desk how industry sometimes colludes with the government and military. He seemed completely weirded out by me, and said, oh, ok, I get it. He doesn't get it! So now they probably still have my fingerprint, but I'll keep using my i.d. card anyway.

Oh, and I also told my favorite guy at the desk how this was probably his boss's way of eliminating some jobs at the front desk. Now, that he got.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

The Prize



She watched him play for the crowd, his eyes meeting the eyes of other women. His words promising that he would be theirs; he would be what their dreams were made of, and their hearts ached for.

She listened with the other women, to the mystery in his voice and the sex in his music. It was a scene she acted in twice a week at the clubs where he played.

She had been one of those women, but she had won his eye. Her trophy, this wanted man, her prize to follow him every night, to try and keep him.