[ WP ] Website advertising has strangely become very personal .

Five minutes until the end of work. I decided to check my e-mail one more time. 
 
 There was nothing but a bill-pay confirmation. I filed it with the others. 
 
 Then the add on the side of the screen caught my attention. 
 
 Instead of animation or exclamation pointed clickbait, it said, in 12 point Helvetica on a white background: 
 
 `` The usual tonight?'' 
 
 Wednesday nights, almost without fail, I get a bacon cheeseburger and a pitcher of domestic beer at the cruddy dive bar down the street from my house, but I'm open to new experiences. I clicked the ad. 
 
 It opened a new browser window showing the directions from my work to the bar by my house. 
 
 `` Weeeird...'' I breathed. `` Hey, Mike, come look at this!'' 
 
 Mike leaned back in his chair to look at my screen from across the aisle of cubicles. I closed the window to show the ad on my inbox screen and clicked the link again. 
 
 Mike squinted. `` What is that an ad for?'' 
 
 I closed the window and reopened it a third time. `` It's a map to Andee's, that place out on Ashland road. But it's from *here*.'' I clicked the starting location on the map directions to show him. `` I go there every Wednesday night for $ 5 pitchers.'' 
 
 Mike let out a low whistle. `` You got ta change the settings on your phone, man. The MAN knows where you are.'' 
 
 I took my phone out of my pocket. `` I do n't care who knows where I am. But how did Andee's get money for targeted ads like this? Is it just a new service on the email?'' 
 
 Mike shut down his computer and rolled away from his desk. `` You should care. They're probably selling your data to... I do n't know... Big Cheeseburger or whoever.'' 
 
 I parked in front of the bar and walked in, like usual, casually flipping through recent contacts and calendars to see who might want to join me for a beer. I sat at a table equidistant from the jukebox and restroom. A waitress approached, one of the newer ones, and offered me a menu. I waved her off. `` I can just order. Bacon cheeseburger, medium rare, waffle fries, side of guac. And a pitcher of whatever the special is. Please and thank you.'' She scribbled for a moment and smiled as she left. 
 
 I turned my head to see if there was a queue on the jukebox and when I turned back, the other seat at my table was occupied by a small, clean cut man about my age, in a sport coat and a hooded sweatshirt. He said nothing. 
 
 I grinned at him. `` Can I help you?'' I asked. 
 
 `` It's more likely than not,'' he said. He offered a handshake over the table. `` I'm Kyle. I'm a big fan.'' 
 
 I squinted and glanced over my shoulder in a theatrical, `` Who, me?'' gesture. `` I think you have me confused for someone else.'' His hand continued to hang there, above the salt and pepper shakers. I took the hand and shook it once before he responded. 
 
 `` No, it's definitely you. Bacon cheeseburger and a pitcher of whatever's cheap.'' He gestured to the waitress. `` Chili fries and a 
 water? Yes, I moved to this table. Thank you.'' She set down a plastic water glass and a red plastic basket, smiled the same smile and walked through the swinging door to the kitchen. 
 
 `` You're a fan of what exactly?'' I asked. 
 
 `` Uhhh...'' Kyle eyed the tap list. `` Your numbers? I guess? Your blog, is the shorter answer, but less accurate.'' 
 
 I mentally ran through a litany of abandoned LiveJournal and Blogspot accounts I'd had over the years. `` Which- Which blog are you a fan of?'' 
 
 Kyle set the tap list back on the table. `` Blogs, I guess, yes. Okay, I have n't actually read the blogs themselves.'' He hesitated. `` All right, two things. One, I'd like to offer you a job, and two, I'd like to tell you a story. Which would you like me to do first?'' 
 
 I fished in my pocket for jukebox money. `` Story first,'' I said. 
 
 `` I was 85 % sure you were going to say that. All right. From 1953 the CIA began a program to research the feasibility of human mind control. Whatever you might have heard in movies, the program was always more about enemy interrogation than real mind control. Getting ideas out of people rather than putting ideas in.'' 
 
 I interrupted. `` Kyle, this job had better pay really well.'' 
 
 He stopped, not in the least bit annoyed. `` $ 76,000 a year to start, but we'd prefer you do n't quit your current job for at least three years.'' He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper which he slid across the table. `` Plus signing bonus.'' I icked up what definitely appeared to be a valid cashiers check for 
 $ 20,000. 
 
 `` Shall I continue?'' I nodded, not looking up from the check. 
 
 `` Anyway, the program was slowly shuttered over the following two decades and personnel and data were shuffled into other government agencies and some less than reputable private firms, both domestically and internationally. ARPA, or now DARPA, I can never remember when it changed over, took some of the more promising but... ethically dubious parts of the research data and started doing basically exactly what you *have* seen in the movies; trying to'program' sleeper agents to 
 perform covert operations without a direct chain of command. 
 
 `` None of that research ever really panned out, as you can imagine, but over the 2 or 3 decades the program ran, it did identify a handful of individuals for whom the conditioning, the'programming' simply was n't necessary. These people just wanted to help, in whatever capacity they understood that to mean, and had shockingly little compunction about doing what was necessary to achieve a goal as long as they understood and believed in that goal.'' 
 
 The uncomfortable feeling I recognized from community college ethics and philosophy courses began to prickle at the back of my neck. 
 
 `` As it turns out, these people represent about one in every 73,000 people worldwide, a little less in the United States, but close enough. The problem is that the battery of testing that it took to identify these individuals took weeks, sometimes months of observation and interviewing and profiling to build the full psychological profile. So, in the end, some government black ops agency got a handful of new agents, but the program was shut down.'' 
 
 I took a poured what I suddenly realized was the first glass from a pitcher I did n't remember being brought to the table. `` So... What are you hiring people for?'' 
 
 Kyle sipped his water and picked up a fry from the edge of his basket. `` The government program was shut down in the early'90s. I'm not with the government. If I was, you would n't work for us anyway.'' He popped the french fry into his mouth and continued talking as he chewed. 
 
 `` The organization I work for, that I'd like you to work for, after some Freedom of Information Act requests and some... more direct freeing of information, acquired the profile describing these agents. And in the course of a couple years of trial and error, managed to reverse engineer the psychological inventory to be administered passively over a massive data pool to which they have access.'' 
 
 I drank half a glass of beer in one swallow as my cheeseburger arrived. `` Blogs. E-mails? Message board posts?'' 
 
 Kyle nodded. `` Phone calls, internet searches, purchase history, your Netflix queue. Since the image recognition has improved, we've gotten a lot of good data from pictures that we were n't getting even a couple years ago.'' 
 
 `` So... My internet history has told you that I'm a good candidate to be... what? A spy? An assassin?'' 
 
 Kyle choked on his water. `` Oh, God, no! The basic profile just says you'll be cooperative with the system. Your aptitudes for wet-work are...'' He stopped himself. 
 
 `` Okay, look. I'm the same 1 in 73,000 as you. I'm in data analytics. You, on the other hand, have n't taken a math class since sophomore year of high school. Despite...'' he paused to glance at his phone. `` Despite the same score as me on the math SAT. Weird.'' He shrugged. 
 
 `` Anyway, I like numbers and it's what I'm good at. You appreciate them, but you do n't really like to get your hands dirty with spreadsheet formulas much less blood, so no, we're not recruiting you for something you'd be terrible at.'' Relived, I took my first bite from my dinner.
