He was at his usual end of the bar, bellowing at the big screen TV, bestowing his wisdom on the lunchtime audience. “What are they moaning on about? If people have nothing to hide why should they worry if somebody looks at their data? What’s so precious about a bit of information?”
In my friendliest tone I asked him his name. He hesitated, took a gulp of lager, wiped the froth with the back of his hand, and said, “Tony.”
“Where do you live?”
“Who wants to know?” he said. “I’m just telling you what I think. What’s my address got to do with anything?”
“Well, if you’re embarrassed about your post code …”
“There’s nothing embarrassing about Morley,” he said defiantly. He mentioned a familiar street.
I began to sound more investigative. “Where do you work?”
“Look,” he said, “I was only letting you know what I thought.”
“That’s what everyone says. But how do I know what your real motives are?”
“What are you on about, real motives? I’m just expressing an opinion. I am allowed an opinion.”
“Hmm, but what’s behind it?”
“Behind what? Why should there be anything behind it? Nothing’s behind it.”
“Then you won’t mind telling me about your employment status.”
“Why should I?”
“It’s just data. I’d like to do a bit of a Google search on you.”
“Search! Me?”
“Why not? Who do you work for? Who follows, friends and fraternises with you?” This was turning into a proper interrogation.
“None of your bloody business matey.”
“Have you ever sent an email, DM, private message to someone you weren’t supposed to? How is your relationship with your wife? You got kids? A mortgage? Do you belong to any organisations? How often do you frequent websites you wouldn’t like your wife to know about? …”
“What are you talking about my wife for? What’s she got to do with anything?”
“How much do you earn? Do you pay your bills on time? I just want the facts Tony. Just the data.”
“You’re crackers,” he said, hastily downing the last of the Carlsberg before bolting for the door. “Bloody insane.”
I don’t blame him. I suppose I did sound even more of a crank than usual.
But my approach always works. Whenever someone tries the old “if a person has nothing to hide” routine I respond with requests for personal information. Just the other day someone Direct Messaged me wanting to write a guest post about a prominent local figure who has been in the news – or kept out of the news if you follow our courageous local media. She didn’t see why this person should object to being investigated if she wasn’t doing anything wrong.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“What on Earth has my age got to do with anything?” she said.
“Well, if we go ahead with the post we’d like to include that information.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” she said.
“But I need your age in order to complete our new disclosure form.”
“I don’t get it. What’s that about?”
“It’s about transparency. Whenever anyone submits an opinion piece we need to fill out this form.”
“You never told me this before.”
“It’s a new policy. We can’t have people expressing personal opinions freely without checking on them.”
“Still, I’d rather not,” she said, apparently finding my nonsense credible.
“Just a few facts. What is your job title? What is your partners take home pay? Have you or your partner ever benefited from the services of a mental health professional?”
She replied with an awkward emoticon.
“How many holidays do you have a year? How much do you spend on clothes? How often do you go out drinking?”
She exploded, “I don’t have to answer these questions. I’m not telling you anything!”
“How about the make and operating system of your smartphone?”
“My phone?”
“Your phone says a lot about you. Can you Instagram it?”
“Get lost,” she hammered, “and stop following me on twitter else I’ll have to block you!”
With that she terminated the tweeting.
There’s a person with plenty to hide, wouldn’t you say. She didn’t even end with a smiley face.