I've never been particularly paranoid, mostly because it seems like a lot of work. All that fretting and pondering about the various ways people are out to get you has to be tiring.

But I like hanging around with paranoid people. That way, I get the benefit of their constant state of high alert. They do all the worrying, and on the occasional moment when it turns out that, indeed, there's something to be concerned about, I'm fresh and rested. I haven't wasted my energy on ungrounded fears.

That's why I'm always happy to hear from my pal Russ.

Russ, an engineer by training and a paranoid by inclination, is one of those people who sees the cataclysmic potential behind any ordinary, everyday event. I go to the State Fair, buy a corn dog and say to myself: "Boy, this tastes good." Russ goes to the State Fair for a corn dog and wonders whether it contains E. coli, whether the cook has washed his hands properly, whether the health inspector was bought off, and whether the trailer from which the corn dogs are sold could start rolling away and crush someone. Also, Russ has mentally calculated the height of the nearby Ferris wheel, examined its supporting structure for mechanical soundness, noted how close it is to the corn dog cart and worked out exactly which piece of the Ferris wheel will hit the spot where he is standing when the whole thing collapses.

In other words, Russ stands in line for a corn dog and says to himself: "I'm going to die here."

But if Russ isn't the greatest guy to go on a corn-dog binge with, he earns his keep in other ways -- such as being alert to the possible unhappy consequence of keeping those little preferred-customer cards you get from grocery stores attached to your key ring.

At some point, Russ noticed that his name was printed on the receipt after he'd made a purchase using one of his preferred-customer cards. His natural paranoia kicked in immediately: If he were to lose his keys, the person who found them could simply make a purchase, look for the name on the receipt and "go though the phone book or Internet to find the address that those keys will open!" Russ declared in an e-mail message. (I suspect that paranoids use lots of exclamation points. They come in handy when you're describing how people are out to get you! Everyone's in a conspiracy! They're listening to us right now!)

This lurking danger had never occurred to me. I thought the worst thing that could happen with my preferred-customer card is that my weakness for squirt cheese would somehow become public.

As a test, I went to my neighborhood Harris Teeter store and bought a couple of items. Sure enough, the receipt told me the name of the store manager (Steve), the cashier (Joe) and the customer (yours truly).

Happily, there was also a customer service number on the receipt. I called and asked if my name could be deleted from all receipts in the future. Yes, it could, the customer service lady said. All I had to do was give her the number that was next to my name on the receipt.

Oh, great. Harris Teeter has assigned me a tracking number, too. I know I should also worry about this, but I won't.

That's why I keep Russ around.

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