DOES GOOGLING YOUR FRIENDS MAKE ME A STALKER?

The first step is to admit you have a problem, right?

Well, my problem is Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Google. I blame the oversharers, the ranters and ravers, and that one dude from high school who lost a shit ton of weight and is now semi-attractive. But my problem doesn’t stop there — I don’t need to know you yet to stalk you. You like my friends’ status? Consider yourself stalkable. You’re tagged in a picture with someone who happens to pop up on my news feed and you look somewhat interesting? Yep, I’m stalking you. I met you briefly at a party? You guessed it, into Google you go!

No matter what I do to fight the urge, I tend to find myself falling keyboard first into this rabbit hole of useless information.

From ex-boyfriends to former teachers, future employers, and hot baristas on a Saturday afternoon, I have this intense urge to know EVERYTHING about people — what they look like now, if they’re married, if they’re college educated, if they like cats or dogs or if they’re worthy of a second date (and oftentimes, a first). Before the Digital Age, people could walk in and out of your life and that would be that. If you saw them again, it would be fate; if you heard news about their personal life, it would be via word of mouth. But now we create such immersive profiles of ourselves for the world to see that it’s almost impossible to remain anonymous.

So that brings me to my next question: Would we have this same urge to discover such mundane information about strangers and acquaintances if it wasn’t so readily available? I’d like to think I wouldn’t be lurking in alleys or peering through windows to get this type of information — I hope, I really do hope. It’s not like I’m sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for someone to post something (not all the time, anyway). In fact, sometimes it’s Facebook’s news feed that helps plant the seed.

Take this scenario for example: I open up Facebook to see that so-and-so has posted a picture or a status or whatever. Keep in mind that in this particular example, so-and-so is an acquaintance from high school. We’ve been Facebook friends since 2004-ish, yet haven’t talked since 2003. I’ve seen her “I’m engaged ” posts along with one that said “we’re pregnant” and all the pictures that went along with them. I didn’t seek those out. She shared them with me — with us, the Facebook community. I mean those who share this type of information must realize what they’re doing, right? So I’ve witnessed these life moments over the past 10 years and I’m sitting on the bus and she posts something mundane like “Baby #2 just took a poop … so stinkin’ cute.” And, for some reason, as I shake my head in disgust, I feel compelled to view the comments, so I go to her page. Then I go to her photos to see how much her kids look like the little girl I went to school with and I realize that I’ve kind of watched them grow up (FYI, I’ve never met these kids). I also see that another acquaintance has posted on her page. So I click that person’s name. I see where this person is living and working now, check out their photos. Noticing that we have a friend in common, I explore that person and try to figure out how they know each other. And before I know it, an hour of my life has passed. It’s like a little treasure hunt, except the treasure is useless information. Harmless, really, and totally unnecessary, yet still many of us do it.

News feed discoveries are what I call “accidental stalking,” but there’s also the type of stalking where I (or should I say “we”? — you know some of you do it too) actively seek out the information. You know, when you meet someone super attractive or just plain interesting? Could be a total stranger, a coworker, or a mutual friend. Doesn’t matter. They’ve intrigued us, and we want to know more. This is where Google comes in handy. Know only their first name and maybe where they work? Easy. The sole purpose of this search is really just to lead us in the direction of their respective social media profiles on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or wherever. Oftentimes we may do this type of stalking together in order to help one another gather the necessary information about a crush, for example (this is a form of communal stalking). In these cases, there are a few main questions I personally like to have answered: 1. Does he have a girlfriend? 2. What are his friends like? 3. What does his ex look like? I’ll also venture off to Twitter to check out his skills with 140 characters and then to Instagram to see if it’s possible that the filters could make him look any hotter (usually the answer is a resounding YES). Again, harmless, but still stalking. And, yes, by admitting this I realize I will most likely remain single for the rest of my days.

This brings me to my final question: Where exactly is the line between harmless “crush research” and “psycho obsessive crazy person”? I realize that sometimes they’re mutually exclusive, but the majority of us mean no harm. I mean, it’s not like I’d show up at Zeitgeist just because my crush posted a status update saying he’s there. However, I do know people who have done this and I still consider them decent members of society.

But seriously, where do we draw the line? Some people stalk online to make themselves feel better about their lives. Others do it to make sure their date for Saturday isn’t a psychopath. Businesses do it to learn more about potential employees. But does that make it okay? It’s tricky because there are definitely scary stalkers out there with intentions that go beyond boredom and curiosity and into a realm I’m sure Law and Order: SVU has covered. And do we call our actions “stalking”? Or “creeping”? Or “actively observing”? I don’t know that the name makes much of a difference, since anyone could start out a casual stalker and turn into something much scarier.

What I do know is that the stalking I’m talking about can sometimes make for very awkward moments. Like that one time I researched (sounds better than stalked, right?) a mutual friend, saw them at a party and started talking to them about birthdays. Without hesitation I said, “Oh, so you’re a Sagittarius too, right?” before having ever made our friendship on Facebook official … oops! Or when I found out that LinkedIn gives you a list of who’s been looking at your profile after having “researched” a number of people who came into the gym I worked at. In the words of Homer Simpson “doh!”

There was also this one time I was communal stalking with my best friend and my hand accidentally grazed the like button on someone’s profile picture. I tried to be cool about it, but ended up borderline hyperventilating. This wasn’t just any profile picture, it was from five years ago! That means there were dozens of pictures before it that I had to sift through to get to this particular one. That’s a stalker’s worst nightmare because now the jig’s really up. Sure, I could’ve unliked the picture, but the person was still going to receive a notification letting them know that I was looking at their profile pictures from five years ago. I’ve been on the receiving end of these types of notifications and it is very obvious that it took quite a bit of effort to get to that image. Needless to say, in these moments my heart often drops because I’ve been outed and there really is no turning back. The only thing worse than this is accidentally friending someone you’ve been researching — that stirs up a certain kind of panic I hope never to experience again.

Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve probably done some form of digital stalking. I think it’s in our nature. It’s like watching reality TV or slowing down on the freeway to see a car accident. Sometimes we just can’t help but want to know more.

Call me psycho, call me a freak, but I know I’m not alone. Fellow digital voyeurs, you know who you are. In fact, some of you may have already googled my name or found me on Facebook or Twitter or whatever … it’s cool bro, no hard feelings. Because, at the end of the day, there’s nothing that makes us stalkers feel better about being the creeps that we are than meeting someone who says, “Oh yeah, I totally do it too.”

WHY COMPUTERS MAKE THE BEST LOVERS

Lately I’ve noticed people using their social media profiles to proclaim their love for Netflix. Some even claim they’re going on “hot dates” with their queue. This observation has led me to the realization that, like many of these people, I’m actually in a relationship with my computer — and Netflix is just part of it. I know it sounds wrong. Dirty even. NSFW status. But for me, it’s all PG, I promise. No, I don’t have objectophilia like that one guy on My Strange Addiction who had sexual feelings for his car. Metal doesn’t do it for me. And yes, I have a life. And friends.

But the definition of relationship is: a connection, association, or involvement. With my computer, I have all three. In fact, there’s much more beyond the obvious literal connection (i.e. to the Internet or to an outlet). When I type, it responds — that’s communication, which is essential to any relationship. We interact on a daily basis, and it’s involved in my work life and my home life. It remembers my passwords, things I’ve done and said (search history), and we hang out every day. Here are a few more reasons why my Macbook and I are hitting it off:

IT’S THERE WHEN I NEED IT

If I want to check my email, write an article, or spend countless hours watching Netflix, it’s there. All I have to do is ask — and by ask, I mean type and click. And it doesn’t judge. If I want to watch Netflix and check my Facebook at the same time, it doesn’t view me with a scornful eye. In fact, it loves me in all my multitasking glory … that’s why browsers have tabs, right?

IT KNOWS ME BEST

It doesn’t just hang out with ANYONE. It honors MY password only. Now that’s loyalty. It even remembers my login information and asks nicely if I’m ready to close out of a document or a webpage. It may be old fashioned that way, but I appreciate that it respects my boundaries.

IT BRINGS ME FLOWERS

Okay, so my computer can’t technically go to the store and buy a bouquet, but if I want flowers, you bet your ass I’m gonna get flowers. Orchids? Lilacs? 20 dozen roses? I ask, it delivers. Though if I want an actual delivery, it’s coming out of my bank account … but that’s beside the point.

IT HELPS ME MOVE

Lifting boxes may be out of the question, and no, it can’t go to any open houses with me, but my trusty computer plays a role in helping me find a home and feel at home. In fact it’s involved from the very start, helping with my search for the perfect place. One word: Craigslist.

IT MAKES ME LAUGH

Cat videos? Animated gifs? Old SNL episodes? It’s got it all. My computer, coupled with YouTube, Netflix, HBOGO, and Hulu, make a great team in this department. Together, they keep me entertained as I chuckle any extra calories away. And my trusty Macbook won’t make fun of me even if I snort a little.

Relationships really are all about the give and take. I make sure my computer is up to date with all the latest software, browsers, operating systems, etc. and it makes sure not to crash when I’m up late working on a project. Sometimes we do need time apart, but it always lets me back in. Sure, it can’t take me out to dinner or keep me warm at night, and it unfortunately doesn’t have a sarcasm button, but it’s mine, and that’s all that matters.

GOING THROUGH A STRANGER’S ENTIRE HOOKUP-TO-BREAKUP ON OUR SHARED MORNING COMMUTE

Our 7x7 patch of land may be small compared to other metropolitan areas, but here in San Francisco, there’s still plenty of room for TMI. From our neighbors’ daily sex schedule to our local religious nut’s thoughts on Jesus, there’s a lot going on that we can’t help but overhear. This TMI also spills over onto Muni, where a simple commute to work can turn us into a captive audience when a romance plays out as a serial performance—from its PDA beginnings to its tearful ending. The latter just happened to me — I became part of an audience to a stranger’s love life for the past nine months. So to my fellow 10 Townsend Muni rider: consider this piece my apology that he broke your heart—because you and I both know that if I had actually gone up to you to console you, shit would’ve gotten weird.

Let me back up a bit. I first heard 10 Townsend’s story about 9 months ago, when she ran into a coworker on the bus. The first woman (let’s call her Blondie) grabbed the second woman’s hand to look at her new engagement ring. A 20-minute chat about their love lives ensued — mostly with Blondie talking about this “totally great guy” she had just started dating, though “not technically dating,” she explained. “We’re not official yet, but I want to be.” My ears perked up, probably because I was in a similar situation. You know, the one where you totally like someone but they totally like not putting titles on things so you pretend you like that too? To put things simply, at that particular time, my love life was all sorts of #itscomplicated so I could totally relate to this stranger.

Over the next month or so, I would see (and hear) these two women on the bus. Each interaction began with an elongated, high-pitched “Heyyyyyyy” before they continued where they had left off the last time discussing the guy Blondie was dating. No super juicy details like how they met or what he did for a living or if they were official yet, but more general updates like “Things are going well,” “OMG, he’s so sweet," and “Yes, I still really like him.”

Then, one morning, I finally got to see The Guy!

I can only assume Blondie and The Guy had some sort of adult sleepover at her place the night before since I’d never seen him on our morning commute. Little did he know that I knew more about Blondie’s feelings for him than he did—but of course I didn’t know either of their names. Even so, I was oddly excited for this new development in their relationship.

Based on her stance, with her head nuzzled into his chest and his arm resting softly on her shoulder, I concluded that they were finally “official.” “You go girl!” I thought to myself. Dating is far from easy in this city, so I was happy that a fellow single lady had found love.

For the next few months, the adult sleepovers had obviously become a more frequent occurrence as I began seeing the couple together on a weekly basis. My internal pride in her ability to snag a hottie quickly turned into constant eye-rolls, though, because as the two got closer, their PDA got worse. She’d play with the buttons on his shirt and use his belt buckle to keep herself from falling during any sudden stops. They kissed every few minutes too. And with each lingering peck, my eyes rolled even more—partly because I was a little jealous (my #itscomplicated situation wasn’t getting any better) and partly because I just fucking hate PDA, okay?

When he wasn’t there, she’d rave to her coworker about whatever sweet thing he had done the night before or about their plans for the weekend. I was learning so much about this couple I didn’t even actually know. She’d talk about how he took her to French Laundry, how they enjoyed cooking together, and that he apparently knew a lot about wine. Blondie's descriptions of this dude’s shows of affection inspired lots of “aww’s” and “how cute’s” from her coworker. At one point, I started counting—I think the record was seven “aww’s” and five “how cute’s” over the course of our 20-minute bus ride together.

Fast forward to last week, about 9 months after my first auditory encounter with Blondie. At first, I didn’t even notice that she and her coworker were sitting in front of me on the way to work. She was quieter than usual, but I could still hear most of what she was saying because, as I’d learned over the course of the year, she wasn’t all that great at keeping private conversations private. Her coworker, who was now her former coworker, asked how she was. It turned out, Blondie and The Guy had broken up.

Her coworker placed a hand on her shoulder to console her. “It’s okay,” Blondie said. Tears suddenly flowed down her face as she rummaged through her purse, looking for a pair of sunglasses to hide behind. Unfortunately for me, by this point in the conversation, Blondie was too distraught to loudly go into detail about the breakup. However, based on her coworker’s empathetic facial expressions and lots of hugging between the two, it seemed pretty bad. It was then that I realized I had witnessed the entire rise and fall of her relationship. It was absolutely heartbreaking to witness, even though she had no idea who I was. In fact, to her, I was just merely an invisible fellow Muni passenger.

Though Blondie and The Guy offered the most consistent saga of my Muni-riding experiences, it’s only one of the many stories I’ve become engrossed with thanks to the common occurrence of Muni TMI. It makes me wonder why some people are so comfortable revealing their personal stories to complete strangers in public. And it also makes me wonder if they even realize that they’re doing so. Granted, Blondie didn’t go into every intimate detail but she still offered our bus line a very personal account of  something that was deeply affecting her.

I’ve witnessed even more revealing personal stories than this one on Muni, often sharing a glance with the other “audience” members to acknowledge these unique theater scenes. It’s fascinating that by simply commuting to work, we watch so many mini dramas unfold over the weeks and months we ride together.

What kind of stories have you seen or heard unfold on Muni as an invisible passenger?