Surfers and Moochers
A couple years ago, the guy who lived in the condo above me was stealing my Internet. He was an unsavory fellow, recently unemployed and living off a second mortgage, ingratiatingly irritating, and perpetually high—the kind of character who would start his own interior decorating business based having successfully completed a sixth-month, one-wall painting project in his own bedroom (he still has one of my paint brushes!).
About 11pm every night, just before I went to bed, I would notice my router come to life, its green and yellow buttons flashing notice of activity. I knew it was him because he was stupid enough to thank me once. Sometimes he would be surfing for hours before I noticed, and sometimes I saw the lights right away. Regardless, I would start cursing, slam my hand against the wall, turn off the router, and then resume cursing. If only I could have figured out how to secure my router (simple installation took me eight-and-a-half hours)!
I can’t explain exactly why it upset me so much. Maybe it’s for the same reason Jerry would get upset whenever dead-beat Kramer raided his fridge without an invitation. But if Kramer swiped two apples and a Kit-Kat without permission, a tangible crime was committed. When my neighbor stole my Internet air, the loss was strictly psychological—but I still felt truly violated.
Apparently, Net theft is a growing problem. But is piggy-baking on a neighbor’s wireless service really stealing? How much of a crime has been committed? How do you draw a line in the metaphorical sand of cyberspace?
