I'm sure you've heard by now about the technology company in Wisconsin that is giving its employees the option of having a microchip surgically implanted in their hands. The chip will allegedly enable the employees to open the doors, punch in and out, and make purchases at the company cafeteria, all without the bothersome security card or fob. According to the latest reports, most of the employees cannot wait for the surgery.
When my employer approached me about installing a chip in my hand so that I could swipe in and out of the office without having to take out my key fob, I was little concerned. But then all my co-workers had the chip installed and they seemed to like it a lot, so I did the same.
It was a little strange at first, having a small computer chip in the fleshy web between my thumb and forefinger. But I quickly got used to it, and the convenience of being able to get in and out of the office with just a wave of the hand was both convenient and futuristic, and I was thankful to live in a time when such technology existed.
The following year, my employer offered a new chip that could not only let you swipe in and out, but would also allow you to purchase food from the company cafeteria. We normally used a special employee card for that, and although the card was very light, there were a few times that I left it in my pants from the day before, and had to beg for food from co-workers. I immediately wanted one and I could not rest or enjoy my lunch until I had the new chip.
So I signed up to have my old chip surgically replaced with the new chip. But apparently the fleshy web between my thumb and forefinger had been stretched during the first surgery, and so the doctors were afraid that yet another surgery to the same spot would cause the fleshy web to lose all elasticity, leaving me with my thumb permanently left hanging off to the side of my hand, and people would perpetually think I was giving their ideas the thumbs down.
So they had to install the new chip in my other hand. I was a little upset having now two chips in my body, especially after they told me that the old chip would have to be deactivated per company policy. But this discomfort was more than offset by the convenience of being able to swipe in and out of the office and buy lunch or a snack with just the wave of my hand.
I now thought I was done with surgically implanted chips. But the following year they released a chip that included a tiny receiver/transmitter so that it could also be a cell phone. I was so astonished at the brilliance of this move that I hesitated not one nanosecond before putting my name on the "upgrade" list that had been posted in the cafeteria.
Being able to make a phone call by talking into your hand - can you imagine? I was so excited, that I did not foresee that there would be any problems. So I was quite shocked when the head of HR told me that I could not have the upgrade done because both hands had already been operated on.
I begged them to reconsider. Was there another part of my body into which they could install this latest of chips?
Having a chip surgically installed in my upper leg was not as bad as I'd thought it would be. The surgery was simple, and the scar was tiny. And making calls by talking into my leg was amazing, better than I'd imagined. All I had to do was hunch over a bit, like I had dropped a piece of food on my lap and was looking to see where it landed, and say "Dial" and then the number. The volume of the chip was amplified so that I could hear the speaker easily. When a call came in, the chip would vibrate, a nice sensation that had the unexpected effect of massaging my leg, and was quite welcome, especially at the end of a long day.
Naturally they had to deactivate the second chip, again per company policy. So swiping in and out of the office by using my upper leg was a bit more challenging. But hardly impossible. The real issue was buying food at the cafeteria. It was definitely disconcerting to my co-workers standing next to me on line when I suddenly kicked my leg straight up in the air so that the cashier could charge my meal to my thigh. I'm not the most coordinated of people. Sometimes I jerk my leg up quickly and I can't always avoid trays that are nearby. So people learned to avoid me when they saw me on the line.
I'd be lying if I said that this minor ostracism did not sadden me. I've always thought of my co-workers as friends first, and co-workers second. But when your employer offers you the chance to become a cyborg, friendship stretches only so far.
