Your Name is Number 10.

I stopped into a local fast food joint yesterday, Arby’s, and ended up having a strange conversation. It went like this:

I ordered and the bill came to seven dollars and change, so I handed the cute little teenager ten dollars and waited for my change and food. Then she asked me:

“What is your name?”

I looked at her for a solid ten seconds and asked, “What did you say?”

“Your name.” She replied. “What is your name?”

“Why do you need to know my name?” I asked.

“So I can type it into the register.” She replied.

“I’m ordering fast food here, not boarding an airplane.” I shot back.

“If you tell me your name I can call it out when your food is ready.” She replied.

I looked behind me and I was the only person in the restaurant. Not a soul but myself ordering food at that moment. Looking back at her I could tell she was becoming almost as distressed as me. I decided to compromise.

“My name is number ten. Just call that out when my food is ready and I’ll wade through the crowd to get it.”

She stabbed a few buttons and then handed me my change and walked away. I watched her and everyone else behind the counter to make sure they didn’t poison my sandwich for such an obvious act of rebellion.

When I finally got my food I could tell she was upset, but so was I. Have we become such an invasive society that the simple act of buying lunch called out for identifying oneself? Is there no privacy left in the society we call home.

I believe once these corporate entities have consumed your privacy, they will begin to dictate what you can or should believe. The more you reveal to them, the more control you give to them.

Fight back.

Give them as little as possible.

Your name is number 10.