Someone Stole My Identity and All I Got Was This Lousy Blog Post

Hollywood has, I’m sorry to report, completely romanticized the experience of having one’s identity stolen. Many films of the last decade would have you believe that there is a world of intrigue, romance, and nick-of-time justice simply waiting for anyone who loses his identity. I can authoritatively say that this is just not true.

My bank, feeling perhaps that it wasn’t doing enough to endanger the money I’d entrusted to them, digitized my bank account, rendering it available to anyone with an internet connection and a few hours free to search Google for hacking instructions. I must confess I was a willing accomplice to this shakedown, agreeing to every measure and even assigning it a cute, easy-to-remember password.

At this point I’m used to being shocked when I check my account balance. It usually has something to do with a check I wrote two years ago at Home Depot finally clearing or my bank charging me a their standard “giving them my business” fee. So, embarrassing as it is to admit, it was not the -$145 balance that tipped me off to trouble, but rather a tell-tale charge description on my statement. According to my account statement, I had spent over $400 at Gateway.com.

I would spend thousands of dollars on pet embalming before I would buy even a mousepad at Gateway.com. And it’s not just because I’m a snooty internet professional (that certainly helps). It’s not even because their products are sub-consumer-level tinker toys. Gateway is one of the many companies I proudly avoid due to their advertising. The talking cow ads they ran last year had a profound effect on me. My family and I are only now picking up the pieces since my breakdown.

A cursory review of the statement revealed more fraudulent spending done in our name. Computer equipment from Japan, furniture from Paris, a web hosting account in Wyoming (this last one made me chuckle despite the circumstances and gave me hope that the thief might just be stupid enough to be caught). Someone had gotten a hold of our bank card number and $2000 had been drained, causing our rent check to bounce as well as several utility bills. I provide these details only to set the stage for what happened – or didn’t happen – next.

After discovering that we’d been had, our identity taken, our financial security destroyed, our assets wiped out, there was none of the drama I had come to accept as part of identity theft. The phone did not ring, someone on the other end declaring, “this is Agent Jackson – stay in the house!” Nor did the phone ring and a creepy voice inform us that “the game is on – it’s your move!” Our computer did not flash into action with a series of alerts and large red buttons reading “SECURITY BREACH.” No rocks were thrown through our window with notes attached containing cryptic clues. Our apartment building was not immediately surrounded by a task force of gristled ex-marines on one last mission together – again. In fact, the only thing noteworthy about that night was the unusually high traffic in the laundry room in building 239.

I’ve never seen a movie about a guy who loses his identity and spends the rest of the night on the phone with the Customer Service departments of Gateway and Amazon.com, but now I could write one. That was – and as far as I can tell will be – the only aftermath. It is not even likely the money will be refunded, since there is nothing like credit insurance on a bank account.