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Life in the shadows

I try to keep my ears open, but sometimes I find myself entertained within my own thoughts so only unusual sounds, interesting sounds, disrupt the web of ideas in which I have been enmeshed. The other day I was waiting in a crowd of people standing in a roughly hewn line for the bus; most of them were preoccupied with watching their phones, or busy tapping them for replies. Two elderly ladies were huddled together in solemn conversation next to me but nothing interesting seemed likely to emerge from the bus lineup, so I rejoined my internal databank for amusement.

Suddenly, I heard a gasp nearby and realized the woman closest to me was agitated; my ears flew into action and I turned my head towards her, pretending to be scanning the road for the bus.

“You were what?” her friend whispered to her, looking shocked. They were both wearing a reddish coats, but her friend was fortunately behatted, so I could tell them apart. I often have difficulty differentiating older women: most of them look like the elderly late English queen to me on first glance.

Anyway, the whispered reply was not loud enough for me to hear, but the way she gestured with her flailing arms, I sensed I was on to something interesting. The only fragment of her words I caught was something about a shadow. I’ve always found shadows intriguing: they hint at substance, but stop short of defining it, so how could I decide not to sit behind them on the bus just pulling up to the curb?

I really should get a hearing aid, you know; when there are no lips to read and the words are travelling in a direction away from me, I have to point at them with my still-functioning left ear to make any sense. And even then, it’s touch and go for those little bones eking out a living on the far side of my drum.

Fortunately, I managed to find an empty seat directly behind them. The two women were also hard of hearing I think, and were trying to whisper loud enough to be heard over the rattling of the bus. Even so, I found I had to lean forward in my seat to gain access to their words; it was incredibly difficult to do this without alerting either of them with my breath on their necks, though. I had to be clever and just hang my left ear close enough to the one without a hat by pretending I was just an old man trying in vain to take off his backpack. Actually, since my bathroom mirror says I really am elderly, it was easy to pretend difficulty with all of those new-fangled straps and things on the modern packs. I’ve also become quite blasé about flashing the Age Card every now and then.

“What did you mean about shadows, Margie?” the hatted one asked, trying to be as discreet as possible in a loud, hissed whisper at her friend.

Margie leaned her head closer to the hat and, judging by the skin I could see around her ears, began to smile: she had news! “Well, Emma,” she started -but slowly to prolong the suspense, “I posted something on Facebook the other day about the cookie sale at the church…”

Emily nodded in admiration. “Yes, I saw that; we’re all proud of you…” I noticed her reach for Margie’s hand to squeeze it. “But actually not many of us saw it, dear.” I could see her sigh and shake her head. “I spread the word as soon as I read it, because Nancy said she didn’t see it…” Emily hesitated. “And neither did her friends…”

Margie huffed, and shrugged as if she expected as much from Nancy. “I took her name off my ‘friend’ list when she ‘accidentally borrowed’ my favourite sweater at the bridge game a few weeks ago. I was looking for it everywhere, and then a few days later, I saw her wearing it with her friends that sit at her breakfast table… I suppose she thought I’d never notice.” She shook her head angrily.

“But you posted the message about the sale…”

Margie nodded proudly. “Yes, but that’s where the shadows come in, Em…” She straightened her shoulders and glanced at Emily out of the corner of her eyes as if she didn’t want anybody on the bus to know she was discussing something she wasn’t supposed to know about. “It’s something from the dark side of the net,” she whispered into her hands -like she had seen criminals doing on TV shows, I imagine.

Emily’s eyes opened wide at that, judging by the new position of her hat. “Whatever to you mean Marg?”

“Shadow-banning!” She whispered so loudly in Emily’s ear, I actually saw some heads across the aisle sneak a glance at her.

“What’s ‘shadow banning’?” Emily was trying to stem her excitement, but her whisper soon turned into a semi-shout.

“Shhh,” Margie whispered, driving her elbow into Emily’s ribs. “It’s when companies like Facebook and Twitter, reduce the visibility of the post without letting the person who is posting know about it.”

Emily thought about it for a moment. “Then why did I see it?”

“Maybe it’s because I haven’t ‘unfriended’ you…” But she shrugged as if she was just guessing. “Apparently the message is not removed; you just have to know how to find it… something to do with the company pretending they’ve done something about misinformation spreading online… a very politically charged subject nowadays, I think,” she added, glancing around furtively. “Anyway, it’s got to do with what they put in the algo…” she hesitated for a second, trying to remember the correct word. “You know, that thing they use to decide whether or not what you’re trying to post is rude, or racist, or whatever…”

“The algorithm, you mean?”

Margie nodded.

“But…” Emily seemed confused. “… But cookies…?”

Margie turned her head suddenly to look at her friend and I had to pull mine back quickly, as if I’d finally solved the problem with my backpack straps. “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said with a big smile on her face, and I could tell she was proud of showing her social media savvy. “I think the algorithm had been trained -or whatever they do with them- to act as if ‘cookie’ is a code word for drugs…” Her eyes narrowed as if she wasn’t sure whether she should admit out loud on a bus that she’d cracked the system.

“But…” Emily was still shaking her head. “… I don’t understand why the algorithm would still let me see the message. If ‘cookie’ was a code word for drugs, shouldn’t I be blocked from getting it as well?”

I could see the smile spreading on Margie’s face as she stared at her friend. “They know who my friends are; now they know who else to watch as well as me, eh?”

Emily reached up for the cord on the window above her head and although they both stood, it was Margie who walked confidently along the aisle to the exit as the bus slowed at their stop. Emily seemed to hesitate before following her, though -more cautiously than when they’d got on, I thought.

You gotta love buses!

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