No Robin Hood

Typewriter tales

By Jennifer McBride

There are a lot of dumb thieves in the world. There was the thief that set up a camera on an ATM to record PIN numbers and tested it by videotaping his own face. There was the restaurant owner who managed to beat a thief off with a frozen ham. There was the thief who chose an ambulance as his getaway vehicle — can there be anything more conspicuous? Do you really expect to out-race the police in a big, white box on wheels?

There are stupid thieves. And then there's the thief who started using my debit card number last week.

Yes, I was the victim of identity theft. It feels a little like being kicked in the face. I don't think much about the world of debit cards because, deep down in the Neanderthal part of my brain, I consider it magic. Swipe the card and the nice cashier gives you all the doughnuts you can fit in your mouth at once. If you think too hard about how airplanes fly or how banks send money from one end of the world to another, that magic might stop working. Having someone steal from me felt like a friendly acquaintance donkey-punching me in a sore spot I didn't even know I had.

It's not even about the money. Well, it is, because I work very hard and nobody else has the right to spend the sweat of my labor. But it's also about the shredding of your nice, soft safety blanket. You can duct tape the pieces of your bank account together but you can't escape a certain feeling of…violation. I know I'm being a little melodramatic because I didn't lose very much money, but it frightens me what could have happened if my bank hadn't caught the out-of-character transactions right away, so kudos to Glacier's fraud department.

The thing I don't understand is: Why? I can comprehend stealing for food, clothing or drugs. Desperation does strange things to people. But stealing luxuries? iTunes? (Because apparently you'll steal debit card numbers but won't steal music!) NetFlix? And since all goods have to be shipped somewhere, can't the police just follow those little red NetFlix envelopes through the mail?

I want to follow the envelopes, too. I want to take my thief by the scruff of his neck and laugh as he struggles ineffectually. Partly, I'm angry at the system. To get my money back, I have to call all the retailers and tell them what's happened. I have experienced the razors of a thousand phone trees, braving the heavy accents of many a minimum wage employee. Hell is being locked in a room with a customer service representative. The majority of the transactions cost me only small amounts of money, but together, they add up. Some of those charges are only $1, because online retailers test debit cards by taking a dollar from an account before taking full payment. Those dollar-charges would have become big screen televisions, computers or DVD players if my bank hadn't stopped things midway. But when I call companies demanding my dollar back, they don't understand what happened or why I'm going to so much trouble over one measly buck.

I don't even know myself. Maybe it's because I'm incredibly stubborn. Maybe it's because two decades of watching superhero shows has given me an overdeveloped sense of justice. Maybe it's because I have a secret passion for being put on hold for 20 minutes and listening to bad elevator music.

So the moral of this story is — do everything right, but still be cautious. The Federal Trade Commission has a website (http://www.ftc.gov/bcp/edu/microsites/idtheft/) and brochures available through the post office offering tips on preventing identity theft. But even if you do everything right, pay attention to your bank statements. My parents caught someone doing the same thing to them several years ago by keeping track of their charges. So, for financial success, take a few extra minutes to protect yourself. Oh, and don't start a police chase while driving an ambulance. Trust me, it doesn't end well.