posted on Mar, 18 2008 @ 02:18 PM
Well, I got used to being followed a long time ago. My dad was a leading aerospace engineer back in the day, with ultra-above-top-secret access (no,
he never discussed his work). They checked out the families of such people and I was, of course, one of them.
Around the time my dad retired, I was living on a cul-de-sac up in the hills of LA, on a street that, even if you were looking for it, was hard to
find. Usually when someone who didn't live there managed to get there, they would turn around and leave.
Well, one day I was home and went out to get the mail. Parked across the street was a pale-green "narcmobile" - you know, a Plymouth or Dodge sort
of nondescript sedan. Inside were three men, and I kid you not, they were all wearing sunglasses. One was at the wheel and the other two were in the
back. They watched me as I pulled mail out of the box, and about 30 seconds after I went back inside, they started up the engine and left.
What is more interesting is that we had an Atari 800 (this was a while ago) that we had connected to the web (at 350 baud!) through a phone we had
gotten at Radio Shack. One day it stopped working and my roommate, who was attending CalTech at the time, took the phone apart.
What he found was a big blob of solder making hanging the phone up an impossibility (which meant that merely tapping into the line would allow anyone
to listen in on conversations in the room). Although fairly certain that the phone had been tampered with, he took the phone to an expert friend of
his at CalTech. The friend said that there was no way the phone ever could have worked with that solder blob there, and that the phone had definitely
been tampered with.
Needless to say, I grasped the feeling of being raped that day.
But as the years progressed, I got used to the idea that I was likely being surveilled (I mean, I have not exactly been quiet about shady things going
on in the gov't...). I figure there is little I can do to stop them, so worrying about it is just wasted energy.