I have a name, and it isn't 005468
It seems that since last January all I have been signing are forms for the new Privacy and Security Act. All the better; less chance of information leakage and identify theft, as promised, right? This disappears the moment you enter a hospital, trust me. You're theirs — all theirs! And man, oh man, do they let you know it!
Coming back to school after a 14-year absence made me realize, no matter what my department said, I am a number, not a person or a name. Without a student number or card, I can't get test or exam results. Without a user name or password, I can't get access to FanshaweOnline for the “latest and greatest news” of what is going on in my department.
We were a lucky bunch of people who were fortunate enough to have our student numbers changed mid-school year. Some people never got over it: I am one of those lucky people who can remember numbers (except when trying to do my online banking — that number on my TD card confounds my memory every time!) And it always freaks me out when they start the conversation with, “Good Morning, Miss Pole, how may we help you?” It is an Orwellian 1984 all over again!
I am at the London Regional Cancer Centre at least three times a week. They greet me by name, but won't help me or treat me unless I have my OHIP card with me. And if you want to talk about loss of dignity, not only will they not treat me without that damned card in which my head is bald as an eagle from previous treatments, I have to wear one of those damned gowns that tie up in the back. Explain why I need to get 90 per cent naked and into a gown for that?
Also, when I call technical support to fix my computer and they need my SPIN (Sympatico PIN) number before they will even consider helping me. Numbers, Numbers, Numbers — when did I cease being a person and become a number? (And I feel like a number most days — I have PINS for all sorts of accounts: banks, computer passwords and I still to this day, can remember my student number from Lakehead University back from 1987.) NO NUMBER, NO IDENTITY.
Now, I admit I am known as the drummer of the building, but my neighbours mostly know me as Janet the tribal drummer as they see me lug my loads of djembe in and out most of the time. They know me as the woman who went platinum blonde overnight. They know that in an emergency I have dozens of candles they can borrow and replace later. They all know the cat and how much she hates the elevator. They know I am a nighthawk. They know that I get the National Post and if I don't go down to pick it up in the vestibule when it arrives at 5.00 a.m. I don't care if they read it first as long as they put it back on the table —- and they are welcome to the sports section any time they want —- some even read it and then bring it to my door. They have all seem me “go downhill” this summer in the few and rare times I am there to pick up my mail and visit my friends in 502 who are taking care of my flat. They know me as the friend of Dale and Bonnie who have a key and can come in and use the computer any time they want. Does that make me a number? A PIN? Not for one effing second. It means in at least one place I am human and I am going to stick with that title, thank you very much!
Janet is second year student in the hospitality department, on a growing-longer-by-the-moment sick leave. She will bake brownies for anyone who will show up and clean her cat's litter box and vacuums. She can be reached at djembejanet@hotmail.com
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
Coming back to school after a 14-year absence made me realize, no matter what my department said, I am a number, not a person or a name. Without a student number or card, I can't get test or exam results. Without a user name or password, I can't get access to FanshaweOnline for the “latest and greatest news” of what is going on in my department.
We were a lucky bunch of people who were fortunate enough to have our student numbers changed mid-school year. Some people never got over it: I am one of those lucky people who can remember numbers (except when trying to do my online banking — that number on my TD card confounds my memory every time!) And it always freaks me out when they start the conversation with, “Good Morning, Miss Pole, how may we help you?” It is an Orwellian 1984 all over again!
I am at the London Regional Cancer Centre at least three times a week. They greet me by name, but won't help me or treat me unless I have my OHIP card with me. And if you want to talk about loss of dignity, not only will they not treat me without that damned card in which my head is bald as an eagle from previous treatments, I have to wear one of those damned gowns that tie up in the back. Explain why I need to get 90 per cent naked and into a gown for that?
Also, when I call technical support to fix my computer and they need my SPIN (Sympatico PIN) number before they will even consider helping me. Numbers, Numbers, Numbers — when did I cease being a person and become a number? (And I feel like a number most days — I have PINS for all sorts of accounts: banks, computer passwords and I still to this day, can remember my student number from Lakehead University back from 1987.) NO NUMBER, NO IDENTITY.
Now, I admit I am known as the drummer of the building, but my neighbours mostly know me as Janet the tribal drummer as they see me lug my loads of djembe in and out most of the time. They know me as the woman who went platinum blonde overnight. They know that in an emergency I have dozens of candles they can borrow and replace later. They all know the cat and how much she hates the elevator. They know I am a nighthawk. They know that I get the National Post and if I don't go down to pick it up in the vestibule when it arrives at 5.00 a.m. I don't care if they read it first as long as they put it back on the table —- and they are welcome to the sports section any time they want —- some even read it and then bring it to my door. They have all seem me “go downhill” this summer in the few and rare times I am there to pick up my mail and visit my friends in 502 who are taking care of my flat. They know me as the friend of Dale and Bonnie who have a key and can come in and use the computer any time they want. Does that make me a number? A PIN? Not for one effing second. It means in at least one place I am human and I am going to stick with that title, thank you very much!
Janet is second year student in the hospitality department, on a growing-longer-by-the-moment sick leave. She will bake brownies for anyone who will show up and clean her cat's litter box and vacuums. She can be reached at djembejanet@hotmail.com
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
