LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMPOut: Identity Crisis |
by Fay Jacobs |
According to Oprah, the only wasted day is a day without laughter. It's my motto too. Paying taxes, growing older, or one's sexual orientation is not a choice, but laughing at yourself and the oddities of life is. I make this point because generally, when absurd stuff happens, I try to keep my sense of humor. That is, until yesterday, when somebody stole my identity. Why anyone would want my identity, with its maxed-out credit and pathetic portfolio is beyond me, but stole it they did. Okay, that's not completely true. I pretty much gave them my identity-over the Internet (Fay, call your village, their idiot is missing). The mess started six weeks ago, when I could still get a good chuckle out of spending two hours on the phone with AOL because somebody in Bangladesh had cracked my password. Unable to log on, I'd called AOL. In my time on hold, I could have read the collected works of Rita Mae Brown. (See, I was trying to have a sense of humor). As it was, portable phone lodged between my ear and shoulder, I changed my clothes and spent time in the loo. Naturally, the technician finally answered as I was doing a Mexican Hat Dance trying to get my pants back up without dropping the phone. He pretended not to hear the flush, explained that I was secure again and issued me a new password. Fine. Two weeks later, my e-mail went flooey again. This time, the AOL tech had me online for forty-five minutes while he coached me on my cell phone about reinstalling my software. Verizon had a good day and AOL declared me fixed. Unfortunately, the fix completely screwed up my modem settings, requiring me to have a martini and call Dell Computer. I was pissed off but still able to find some humor here. For instance, Dell keeps you on hold for twenty minutes and then, before you can even say hello, an automated voice asks for your service code. I bent down to find the code on the side of the computer, and saw it was written in 2-point type, impossible to read. "You have 30 seconds to say your service code numbers or press the numbers on your touch tone phone," droned the automated one. I dove under the desk, plastered my face up against the sadistic code number, and still couldn't read it. Time up! Bang! I was back on hold. Phooey. I wasn't even on the portable phone so I could go get my glasses. When the robot came back a second time I punched "O" and prayed. Finally, a human said, "Your service code, please." "I can't see it, " I said. "It's on the side of the computer," he said. "No, I can find it," I said, "I just can't see it. Can you hold while I get my glasses?" So I raced off, chuckling about feeling guilty for making some good old boy computer geek wait 30 seconds, when his employer had left me on hold for a long days journey into night. Returning, I crouched under my desk, peered at the tiny numbers and started reporting them to the farmer in the Dell. Suddenly, I leaned too far with the phone cord, dragging my martini off the desk, followed by the phone, both of which hit me in the head. At this point, I was still laughing. I mean what's a day without laughter, right Oprah???? Even the guy from Dell started to laugh when he heard the splash followed by the crash, followed by a loud word for a bodily function. Eventually the computer got fixed and my sense of humor lay in wait for the next absurdity. So yesterday I got an e-mail from AOL, which looked like all the other e-mails I've been getting from AOL. It announced that since I'd recently had a problem with my password, they needed to verify my billing information. What's more, they needed this verification within 12 hours, or my account would become invalid-as a protection to me, the account holder. Well, reading this now, it positively screams "dumb schmuck," but at the time I was e-mailing columns to my editor and PR stuff for my job, so I panicked. I followed instructions and went to the recommended web site. It sure looked like AOL-right down to the privacy statement and links. To make double sure this was legit, I minimized the page and surfed to the AOL home page-which looked identical to the one asking for my financial verification. So I typed in the bank information and all that other secret stuff that makes me Fay Jacobs and hit "submit." The second I did it, I knew I'd been stung. I can't tell you what brought forth the epiphany, but I was positive my screen name should have been ImaMoron@aol.com Instantly, I e-mailed AOL and they confirmed I'd been a victim of fraud-me and thousands of others. Scumbag hackers had cloned AOL graphics and made sport of getting people to spill their financial guts. I then spent six hours on the phone, alternating between numbing classical music and repetitions of my vital statistics to three credit bureaus, two credit card companies, two banks, the Social Security Administration, Macy's, Nordstrom's, my mortgage company and the FBI ("Hello, Fraud Department? Can I speak with Clarice?"). By the fiftieth time I dispensed my social security number I started to go paranoid. Was I really talking to Wilmington Trust or some con artist in Saskatchewan? Would they soon find me locked in the den with newspaper clippings and secret code numbers pasted to the walls like that guy in Opie's Beautiful Mind movie? At one point Bonnie suggested I go ahead and let the con men have my identity. What the hell, I had a perfectly good maiden name to use and I could just start over. I've never been a financial whiz. I could give 'em Fay Jacobs and see what they do with her. I considered it. But, having gotten used to me, I went to the bank the next morning, closed my accounts, cut up my checks, threw away ATM cards and signed up for all new stuff. Hopefully, those hackers who wanted to be Fay J. had nothing left to pilfer. My hope is they'll try to use my accounts, discover them defunct and go victimize some poor schnook who took longer to realize he'd been had than I did. Of course, all this left me with exactly $6.54 in my wallet and no way of getting my hands on more until payday or my ATM cards arrive, whichever comes first. I thawed the spiral ham left over from Easter and figured we could wait it out. Despite being purple with rage at myself for being so stupid, a couple of good things did come from this debacle. With my new accounts, my checkbook is balanced for the first time in 3 years. And I got column fodder so I can warn you to be more careful than I was. Of course, since a day without laughter is a wasted day, I figure those damn con artists owe me 48 hours, some belly laughs and a night's sleep. Caveat Emptor Computer Dumbbell-let the web surfer beware. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 12, No. 05, May 17, 2002. |