My Granddaughter Showed Me How to Stop the Telephone From Spying on Me (And You Can Too, Harold)
By Mildred, age 130, who has survived the Depression, two wars, and now this
Let me tell you something, dear. I have lived one hundred years on this earth. I have buried two husbands, outlived most of my friends, and eaten prunes every morning since 1974. I do not scare easily.
But last Tuesday, my granddaughter Katie visited, and she showed me that the little telephone I carry in my purse — the "iPhone," as the young people call it — had been writing down everything I do and sending it off to strangers. Strangers! Who wanted to sell me things!
In my day, we called that spying, and we called the police.
Katie sat me down, put on her reading glasses (she is 68, poor thing), and showed me how to make it stop. I am writing it all down here for those of you whose grandchildren also refuse to visit unless you feed them.
Step One: Find the Little Grey Wheel
Look at your telephone screen. Somewhere among the colorful pictures is a grey one shaped like a wheel with teeth in it, like the gear off my old Singer sewing machine. It says "Settings" underneath.
Press it with the tip of your finger. Not your whole hand. Just the tip. Katie had to remind me three times.
Step Two: Scroll Down to the Green Privacy Thing
Now you will see a long list of words. Do not be alarmed. You cannot break the telephone by looking at it. I was afraid I would.
Slide your finger upward on the screen, as if you are scrolling a window shade, until you find the word Privacy & Security. It has a little blue picture next to it like a hand. Or maybe it is a curtain. My eyes are not what they were.
Press that.
Step Three: The Word "Tracking"
Near the top of the new list, you will see the word Tracking. Press it.
A screen will appear with a little switch at the top that says "Allow Apps to Request to Track."
Now listen to me carefully. A "switch" on this telephone is not a switch like the light switch by my bedroom door, though it works the same. You slide it with your finger, and it turns from green to grey.
Slide it so it is grey.
Green means the apps may ask to follow you around like a stray cat. Grey means they may not, and frankly, after one hundred years, I have earned the right to not be followed by anything except my cataract surgeon.
Step Four: Deal With the Apps One by One (Optional, Says Katie)
Katie says that on the same screen, there is a list of every app that has already been asking to follow you. Under each one is a little switch.
Slide them all to grey. Every last one.
"But Mildred," you may ask, "won't the weather app stop working?" It will not, dear. It will still tell you the weather. It just will not also tell a shoe company in California that you looked at the rain.
I turned everything off except the app that says my heart numbers, and that is only because my doctor insisted, and my doctor has known me since 1981, so he has earned it.
A Word About the Advertisements
While you are in the Privacy place, Katie showed me one more thing. Go back one screen and look for "Apple Advertising," and turn that little switch grey as well. This stops the telephone itself from showing you advertisements based on what you have been reading.
I do not know why it was showing me advertisements for hearing aids. I have never once said out loud that I need hearing aids.
Which brings me to my final point.
The Thing That Frightened Me Most
Katie explained that the telephone can sometimes hear certain words and show you things about them. She showed me where the microphone permissions are — it is in that same Privacy place, under Microphone — and we looked at every app that was allowed to listen.
There were four.
Four apps listening to a one-hundred-year-old woman talk to her cat.
We turned off three of them. The telephone app may keep its microphone, because I still enjoy calling my sister Rose in Florida to complain, and she is 97 and cannot hear well, so I must shout.
In Conclusion
I was born in 1925. I have watched the world invent the radio, the television, the microwave, and the machine that reads out loud to me when my eyes are tired. Most of these things I made peace with.
But I did not live through a century so that some company I have never shaken hands with could know that I looked at a recipe for lemon cake at 2 in the morning.
Turn the switches grey, dear. All of them. And eat your prunes.
Mildred
P.S. — If you press something and the telephone goes strange, do not panic. Katie says there is a button on the side you hold down until the apple picture appears, and then everything is forgiven. The apple. Not the wheel. I have written it on a card and taped it to my refrigerator.
P.P.S. — Rose wants to know how to do this on her telephone too. If I can translate it into words she will understand, I will write another one. God willing.