Anna Sheftel An interesting thing happened to me the other day. I was logging into one of the many web-based email accounts that I've collected along my journeys on the 'net, and something went wrong. In a seemingly random screw-up, I was transported into someone else's inbox. It took a minute for it to register; I had logged in with my own name and password, and suddenly all these foreign names and emails were facing me. What in the hell was going on? I didn't know how this had happened (and if anyone does, please let me know, 'cause I'm damn curious), and now that it had, I had no idea what to do. Touching anything in this stranger's account was against every ounce of my deeply moral being, but still, the Peeping Tom in me was fighting to be heard. As someone who adores people-watching, this opportunity seemed too good to pass up. Or, as my friend Laura coaxed me on ICQ, "C'mon... This is a gift from God!" So I squelched that "oh man, I'm going to doggie hell" feeling and rationalized that I'd just read one email, because I really would like to get a feel of this stranger who I had been randomly connected with. Within the sea of anonymous faces on the internet, this would be an interesting study. I skipped her inbox and went straight into her sent mail, where I read a nice little email she had written to a friend. I liked her, she seemed smart and fun and nice. And she would probably kick my ass if she knew what I was doing. I read another exchange and then sneaked a glance at her personal info, just to get a little concrete info about this new acquaintance I was making. In my mind, we were bonding. It scared me to see her mailing address sitting right in front of me (although thankfully not her phone number, as that would have probably sent me into real hysterics), ready to be abused. I just wanted to know how old she was and what she did for a living. I wanted to imagine her in my head, to create a character for her. I realized later that in thinking of her that way, she didn't seem like a real person to me at all. The 'net can do that to people. Communicating with people whom you have no actual human contact with can make them feel a little unreal. After scanning her personal info, I logged out immediately so as to avoid the temptation of getting back in again. Then I logged back in, and in a mix of disappointment/relief, found myself in my proper inbox. I looked around like a tourist, wondering what some stranger would think should they find themselves in there. What kind of impression would someone get from these scattered snippets of dialogue that I was storing? I was almost tempted to rearrange things to make myself look better. After all, you never know when company's coming over, right? I suppose I could use this editorial space to write the standard "how much can we trust the technology that we're putting our lives into" piece, using this incident as a prime example. That is most certainly one of the things that it made me think about. While I was snooping through her inbox, what kept popping into my head was how the exact same thing could happen to me. (In fact, my theory about this incident is that we logged in at the exact same time causing the server to fuck up and send us to each other's boxes.) I could not justify what I was doing, especially since I would probably flip out if I found out that I was on the receiving end of it, but I had to do it anyway. This woman was just freakin' lucky that I didn't mess with her shit. My mind boggled at all the damage that could be done in a situation like this. But that's really not the main thing that it's made me think about. More, I've been thinking about how interesting it was to have this bizarro encounter with a random person in the midst of the millions mulling around on the internet. It was one of those moments like when your eye follows some stranger walking down the street, and for one instant you desperately want to know who they are and where they're going. Suddenly the incredibly obvious, yet difficult to conceive of realization hits you that every single anonymous face around you has their own life, as complex and saddled with baggage as your own. This opportunity was the ultimate chance to dive into that train of thought, because I was observing this stranger without her knowing, without her cleaning up her act for my sake, without her "nice to meet you" smile. This was typos and all. It was too fascinating. In the end, I still feel really bad about invading her privacy, but it was such a thought-provoking event. I'm coming to terms with the fact that someone has probably done this to me at one point or another. I'm reminding myself that there is never really any true privacy in this world, and that while that concept freaks me out, I should try and deal. I'm thinking about this young woman, and how we will probably never cross paths again, and how she will probably never know about my little intrusion. Allow me some closure by saying: Amy, I'm sorry, but you seem pretty cool.