By traditionally measure, my keychain is plain vanilla -- a house key, a car key, a mailbox key and a leather fob. It's the 10 pieces of laminated cardboard that unlock the key to me.
They represent scan code loyalty programs for three grocery stores, a liquor store, a bookstore, a card shop, my insurance company, office supplies, a video store and a drug store. Together they can tell more about me than any family member knows.
My driving record is clear, but I return DVDs late all the time. I buy wine by the case and enough office supplies to run a banana republic. During pollen season I always try to refill my Allegra early. (You didn't think I was going to tell you about the good stuff , did you?)
In each case, I made a deliberate choice to sacrifice privacy in exchange for discounts, convenience and/or premiums. As a drop-out of the marketing wars, I know the information I'm giving them is much more valuable than the free gas I just got from Winn-Dixie or the 3 percent kick back from Staples. I resent that I have to present the card to get sale prices at all three grocery stores (two in Georgia, one in Western New York).
But the illusion of something for nothing is seductive. So I ignore the monster database they are building with each swipe and focus my attention on the things that really matter.
Just three more weeks of shopping at Harris Teeter and I'll have the free beach cabana.
Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs