Jean Rover

Jean Rover

Smart This, Smart That

Tracy plopped down on her sofa pleased with the great deal she got on a new Smart-Tek furnace and air conditioning system. Sure it was expensive, but after enjoying cooled air for the last few days of a too hot summer, she was ready for the blustery weather that would follow.

Not only was Bret, the HVAC installer cute—jet black curly hair, muscles popping out of his tight-fitting T-shirt, Johnny Depp eyes, and gold chain adorning his neck—but her new system had a programmable thermostat. The house would automatically heat before she got up and be toasty by the time she returned from work. How good was that? Tracy was like a delighted child with the latest electronic toy.

In no time, wind and cold rain arrived, but Tracy was cozy. Sitting in her chenille robe, she sipped a cup of freshly brewed coffee, savoring the aroma, letting fragrant steam open her sinuses, when she noticed the furnace thermostat lit up. The touch screen said: You have an alert.

Ah, clever. Tracy tapped the message button.

You are no longer connected to the Internet.

Tracy grabbed her user guide, hit the settings button, and followed the instructions. Next she selected Wi-Fi, entered her network password, and hit connect.

You did it! the message screen said.

Yay! Technology was wonderful, and so-o-o convenient.

The next day the sky dropped three inches of snow. The thermostat touch screen lit up. You have an alert.

The message said: Turn me up. It’s too cold in here.

How cool, Tracy thought—a furnace that talks to you. Bret, The HVAC man was right. Smart-Tek systems were cutting-edge, not to mention, bold, reliable, and fun.

Each day, while her furnace cheerfully hummed, she checked for another message.

Turn me down when you leave. How thoughtful.

I love warming you. Sweet.

You’re so cute when you wake up. Wait. What?

Was she losing it or was the furnace getting too personal? Unfortunately, there was no way to type a response, so how could she tell it to back off?

The messages continued.

You’re hot, it said one morning. Just sayin’.

How could this be? And, who could you talk to about a cheeky furnace?

The next message was the last straw. Let’s meet. Be at the Court Street Coffee Shop at three p.m. I know you like coffee, and you turn me on. No pun intended. Heh. Heh.

Tracy’s hand trembled. She immediately set down her cup. Maybe she should have gotten a space heater. She jerked out her cell phone and dialed the HVAC man. “Come and take this thing out,” she screamed. “I think it’s watching me.”

Handsome Bret, in slim-fit jeans and blue work shirt, was at her door in a New York minute. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, his face innocent.

“It’s after me,” she exclaimed.

“What is?” the startled man asked.

“The furnace—it’s, uh, coming on to me.”

Bret’s dark eyes widened.

Tracy’s hands held her forehead. “I just want warmth. I don’t want to date

it.”

He laughed. “Were you flirting with it?”

Had the whole world gone crazy? Was this service guy in cahoots with the furnace?

Bret approached the thermostat. “Let’s take a look.” He removed the cover. Touch. Touch. Zip. Zip. After he finished, he stood there staring at the tiny screen. “Huh.” He scratched his head. “I’ll be darned.”

“Well?” She tapped her foot, and folded her arms.

He smiled. “I disconnected your device from the Internet.”

“You disconnected me? But what about all that convenience I paid for?”

“You’ve been hacked.”

Her hands cupped her cheeks. “Hacked?”

“Yeah. You know, someone used a computer to gain unauthorized access to your system here.”

Tracy twisted the ends of her blond hair between her fingers. “Who would hack a furnace? I mean like it’s not a bank.”

“It’s happening a lot,” Bret said knowingly. “Technology. It’s everywhere. Think about it. Those new-fangled garage door openers folks buy track every time they enter or leave. Those automatic light thingies know when a person goes to bed or does almost anything else.”

“Everything?” Tracy gasped.

Bret continued. “Then there are smart clocks, speakers, doorbells, coffee pots, window blinds, hot water heaters, and garbage cans that monitor what you throw away and generate online orders for replacements. Did I even mention smart phones? They all take your commands, but they also know things about you … personal things. Yep, smart homes, they’re the new frontier for hackers.”

Tracy pushed a curl from her face and shuddered. She reached into her pocket and fingered her cell phone. What did it know about her, and how could a poor defenseless girl protect herself from a world that was becoming overly technical and too invasive? Bret was a furnace ninja, a sun in a bleak night, and

so-o-o-o knowledgeable. “Now what?” she asked, her demeanor like a wilting bouquet of violets.

“My best advice when it comes to the Internet of Things and the sprawl of smart devices,” Bret said, gazing into her soulful blue eyes over coffee at the Court Street Coffee Shop at about three p.m., “is stick to the good ol’ on and off switch.”