I’m hoping you’ll recognize the typing. It’s me, even if my identity isn’t clear. You see, my identity was stolen. But hey! I’m still me! You’ve gotta believe it!
The tip-off was a call from a Chicago police detective.
“That’s me,” I replied. Normally, I wouldn’t answer an out-of-state call. Nobody out of state who calls really wants to talk to me. They normally want to sell me something. Detective Bryant wasn’t selling anything.
She was very matter-of-fact, and it was impossible for me to keep visions of SVU and CSI out of my mind. I’ve seen enough of the TV shows and I’m pretty sure I’d seen my own personal episode, even if I can’t remember who was playing my part.
The victim.
Detective Bryant even asked me if I wanted to be listed as such.
“Yes,” I answered. But at that moment, I really wanted something much stronger than just admitting I was in that state. I want to be standing within three feet of Mr Coleman and… Well. Suffice to say, I wasn’t hoping slap up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him. Or smack his back in congratulations. Certainly, not his back. And probably not a slap. But that’s neither here nor Chicago.
The guy named Josh Coleman was apparently sitting across the desk from the intrepid detective, claiming that he had found the credit card with my name on it some three years ago. It was a credit card from a home improvement store. I’ve never had one from such a place.
“That’s a lie,” I told her.
“Do you live in Calumet City?” she wanted to know.
“No,” I said. “No, I live in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.”
I have a good imagination, and right about now, I’ve got a pretty good image of this guy sitting in handcuffs, charged with fraud and identity theft, sitting on the other side of the desk from the woman on the telephone with me.
She explained that she had called me on her personal cellphone (which explained why her name came up on my caller-ID instead of the Chicago Police Department) but she would be happy to answer any questions I might have if I wanted to call the Chicago precinct. She gave me the number.
Before she hung up, she quickly answered my last-second flurry of questions: How did he get my information? Will charges show up against my personal credit? How did she find my number to call me?
The detective advised me to contact the credit bureaus and provide a “fraud alert” and request a credit report to determine if there are other credit cards that have been issued in my name that I don’t know anything about.
Man.
I can’t help feeling a little abused. A little victimized.
Don’t know why, but I sort of want to take a shower. I feel – dirty – economically, and that’s a weird thing, I’m telling you. Money laundering, I don’t need – ‘cause I don’t have anything to clean up. I’d LOVE to be laundering money. (I don’t mean ILLEGAL money laundering. I’m thinking it might just be fun to scrub up some dollars.)
I wish someone would scrub up Mr Coleman with a stiff bristle brush and some really hot water, maybe from a high-pressure hose. Then, I might come away feeling a little cleaner about myself.
Then again – I’ve never been a top-scholar about math and ciphering, laundry, the weekly wash, and the bottom-line-bank-account balances. I’m a reader.
Detective Bryant? Read him his rights.
Bookmen are inherently honest, even as regarding credit card transactions, cash tendered, consignments offered, and explanations put forward. Don’t be concerned about who I am. My identity – even borrowed or stolen – is always above board and honestly offered.
Come visit!
McHuston
Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
123 South Main St., Broken Arrow OK!