'If you've got nothing to hide, why does it bother you so much?' asks the hubs, insisting that I tap my phone onto the laminated square badly taped to the table at our favourite pho place. They haven't wiped the table yet, and a flaccid noodle sits sadly next to two tiny empty teacups and a thermos of tea, unique to some Vietnamese restaurants. I'm kinda hovering my phone above the square, making a show of it. I can be a good actor in situations like this. The trick is to actually believe you are doing it, whilst knowing you are not doing it at the same time.

'You know you'll be fined, right?' he says. I'm not sure about individual fines, but I know that businesses can face up to $1,652. With the new 'outbreak' in Victoria, the state has mandated that we check in at all retail stores, supermarkets and cafes. Even our DIY Chain, Bunnings, where lower prices are just the beginning, and one can grab a hot sausage with onions on a Saturday, or used to, BV (before Virus). Yesterday, I waved my phone over the QR code reader, smiled at the security guard, wandered through the store, realised I didn't bring cash and that THEY WOULD KNOW if I used my card, and walked out without the paint I'd gone out of my way for.

There is not one word of protest online.

When I go out for lunch with my sister, enjoying a delightful southern fried tofu burger and sweet potato fries, she looks at me sternly and says that I better not be waving my phone and not actually signing in.

'I'm not!' I grouch, tapping furiously at my phone. I wave the phone in front of her eyes, but by the time she finds her glasses, the phone is slapped on the table, face down, and I'm furiously studying the menu.

Victoria Chief Health Officer Professor Brett Sutton argues it will help contact tracing efforts so they can find every single person that's possibly been exposed. Doing your bit, like in the War, you know. Because we are in this together.

I slurp pho and mutter to hubs that we're surveilled enough already. Can I not hold onto some illusory freedoms, like eating pho without people knowing that my last steps before I die was eating pho? Can I please not be that guy who was made into a satirical meme because every place he visited that day was something to do with barbecues? I wish for a 'private browser' option in my real life, as if I could walk from the garden centre to the green grocers without Them knowing. It all just feels nefarious. You can't possibly say so, of course, because then you are branded a Conspiracy Theorist, and that smarts, because you know they say Conspiracy Theorist like you have just landed from outer space and plan to annihilate The Australian Way of Life.

'Have you checked in?' the waitress says. I slurp noodles and smile. For reassurance, I wave my phone around, as if it is a beacon of virtue in the darkness of this viral era.

'That'll be $34.50' she says.

I hand her the cash.