By Arthur Vidro
By Arthur Vidro
During the final weeks leading up to Election Day, the following email was sent to many registered Florida voters.
“Hi [name of recipient]. We are in possession of all your information. You are currently registered as a Democrat and we know this because we have gained access into the entire voting infrastructure. You will vote for Trump on Election Day or we will come after you. Change your party affiliation to Republican to let us know you received our message and will comply. We will know which candidate you voted for. I would take this seriously if I were you.”
None of our legitimate political parties, I’m sure, would stoop to engage in such threats. To me, the email smells like it’s from a loosely knit association of knuckleheads trying to make themselves feel important. Pranksters or airheads or thugs with an internet connection, trying to act like big shots. (Maybe using the internet, like driving a car, should require a license?)
I can’t imagine any consequences will befall the folks who received and ignored the email.
My reaction was, “Why on Earth did these voters leave themselves open to such intimidation?”
Let’s follow the data trail.
A voter’s name, address, email, and date of birth are public record, according to Florida’s division of elections website. Who a voter casts a ballot for, is not.
All 50 states allow access to voter data for election purposes. That means information about your political party affiliation, home address, and even past political donations can make you a target for a swarm of unsolicited emails and texts.
But a voter is not required to have a phone number. A voter is not required to have an email address. One can register to vote without divulging this information. In our household, we registered to vote without giving the Elections Board this information.
It has spared us from countless interruptions, pollsters, earnest campaigners, and shady hustlers.
It isn’t difficult to keep one’s personal information to oneself. But it does take vigilance. It means not supplying information every time it’s requested.
Two years ago, I switched dentists. The cumbersome form I had to fill out before the dentist would see me including a line for my Social Security number. I wrote on that line, “There is no reason you need this information.”
I was never challenged, and the dentist and I get along satisfactorily.
About 15 years ago, in a regional department store where I often shopped, I tried to make a purchase. At the checkout, the woman operating the cash register asked for my phone number. It wasn’t because of my suave looks. She hadn’t even looked at me.
“I’ve never had to provide it before,” I answered. “I don’t see why it’s necessary.”
“The machine is asking for your phone number. That’s why.”
“But this is a cash purchase.”
“Doesn’t matter. Now it always asks for a phone number. So what’s your number?”
I was taken aback. The “cash purchase” refusal had always worked before. This time, I declared, “I pay good money every month to the phone company to keep my phone number unlisted. So it doesn’t make sense for me to give it to your computer.”
“I need your phone number, sir.”
“If your computerized cash register won’t take my money unless it also gets my phone number, then I won’t make the purchase. If you want to lose a customer, that’s fine by me. But I don’t think management would approve.”
She summoned a manager. I explained I was a cash customer who was unwilling to divulge his phone number, and why on earth should a phone number be necessary? The manager told me they were now required to get a phone number from all customers because the corporation’s marketing department so desired.
I stuck to my guns and asked if I should abandon the attempt to make a purchase and instead walk out empty-handed.
Realizing I meant business, he pushed a button or two to allow the transaction to be completed without my phone number.
A couple months later I returned, and this time at the checkout the “needed” information, even for cash customers like me, was one’s home Zip Code. I thought a few seconds, saw no reason to safeguard that info, and provided it.
I have no way of knowing, but I like to think my resistance led to that change.
A few weeks ago at the local Harbor Freight, I was making a cash purchase, and getting a 20% discount from a store coupon, but the gentleman at the register didn’t take my money. Instead he asked for my phone number.
I said I didn’t want to give it.
He said they needed it.
I had waited on a long line, which was now getting longer. I didn’t want to deliver a lecture. Silently I put my money on the counter.
He didn’t touch the money. He elaborated that they needed the phone number so they could continue to keep sending me coupons.
I didn’t want to take the time to point out the illogic of his explanation. I had never provided my phone number, I wasn’t in their computer system, and I didn’t want to be entered. Nor did I bother to explain that the coupon had been clipped from a magazine, and had not come from Harbor Freight itself.
“There’s a long line behind me,” I finally said. “And I’m not giving my phone number. Take my money or not, it’s your call.”
He took it.
So yes, it does take effort.
But just because information is requested — even if it’s the Board of Elections asking for a phone number or an email address — that doesn’t mean you must provide it.
Arthur Vidro’s latest short story, “Ask Fred the Usher,” appears in the new anthology Mystery Most Theatrical.
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