“I’m telling you, girlfriend, it’s 1984 all over again!” said my friend Anna Marie.
“Terrific!” I replied. “I still have several pairs of bell-bottomed, hip-hugger pants.”
“I’m serious! Big Brother is watching!” She scowled at me. “George Orwell warned us of this very thing in his book 1984, and now it’s coming to pass right here on the peninsula.”
I sighed. “You do realize that 1984 was 30 years ago…”
“I don’t care. I’m never driving down Sandridge Road again. I don’t want Big Brother keeping track of where I am, who I’m with, and how fast my car is going.”
“Are you planning to turn off your cell phone, too?” I asked.
“Maybe.” She shrugged.
I sighed a second time. “Don’t your read the newspaper? One of our County Commissioners assured the public that those Speed Limit Monitors have no cameras attached, and no tickets will be issued.”
“And you trust him?”
“Hey, I happen to know we both voted for him!”
It was her turn to sigh. “So you’re not the least bit worried about this blatant invasion of privacy?”
“There’s no invasion, Anna Marie; those signs are for information only.” I laughed. “Do what I do—I made a game out of it. I always set my cruise control when I can anyway, so now I try to set it at exactly 45 mph so the display lights don’t flash.”
“Hhmm,” she said doubtfully.
“I’ve gotten really good at it,” I continued. “And the whole point is to raise the public’s consciousness so they will mind their own speed. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered not everyone plays the same game.”’
“How do you know that?”
“When I stood on the side of the road to take a photo for this blog, you wouldn’t believe the number of people who slammed on their brakes! I actually had to stay out there quite awhile to get someone not going under 45.”
Anna Marie laughed. “Maybe they should hire you to stand out there with a camera.”
“Not a chance!” I replied. “But on second thought, I wonder how much they would pay…”