In the middle of a recent medical appointment, my doctor
looked up from his notes and mentioned that he'd enjoyed several entries of
BillsWeek, the blog which you are currently reading.
I was a bit nonplussed. After all, the man who has examined
some of my most private places may have inadvertently learned something
personal about me.
I was in a meeting at work recently when a manager casually
mentioned that she, too, had read BillsWeek. After a moment of surprise, my
mind quickly reviewed all content from the last several months to see if there
were anything I didn't want people at work to see.
Ooops - should have thought about that before.
That's the thing about putting stuff on the Internet. While
odds are slim that any one person will actually see it, chances are good that
someone will, and it's unfortunately not going to be the people we want. For
example, I wish a certain neighbor would see what I wrote about her
unsupervised child throwing rocks at my window a while back, but I'm fairly
certain she doesn't read BillsWeek, or anything for that matter. My doctor,
however, now knows, whether or not I want him to, that I have a problem with
the way children run wild in my neighborhood.
Nothing on line is private. As I have said to many new
employee classes: don't post anything that you wouldn't want your mother to
see. One only need recall that photo of former Congressman Anthony Weiner's wiener
to know that even sending "private" text messages is risky.
The Internet is like a tattoo. When you're young, it's fun
to do something outrageous in the spur of the moment, just for shock value. But
do you really want that future hiring manager to see it?
I'm careful not to write about some personal things in
BillsWeek. It's not that I'm ashamed of much. It's just, unfortunately, not in
my best interest to give some people information they may use against me later.
I'm also careful not to complain about my job (not that I ever would, of
course) or trash individuals that I know personally - with one or two
exceptions, such as neighbors' children, one of whom will probably be my boss
someday.
