It is one thing when a computer calls me by number, since I know that I am not a number and no amount of repetition will convince me otherwise. But it really bends, folds, spindles and mutilates me to think that a computer — slyly acting like a human — should actually address me by name; that it should presume to banter my individuality about like an old friend. What I now await is the day that computer decides we have been corresponding long enough for it to begin calling me "pal" or "buddy-boy".