Ruth Dingfield can go to Hell…
Today is the 15th anniversary of my mother’s death and I’m thinking of how she used to try and cheer me up whenever I was feeling down.
She knew me so well that I didn’t even have to say anything when I was upset.
She’d see this morose look on my face, give me a most beautiful smile and, referring to my spirits, she’d say, “up, up, up!”
I wish I had listened to her when she was alive. I wish I had kept a more positive attitude around her and showed that I was making an effort to be happy, instead of playing the victim far too often.
And I could sure use her help today.
My bank account was hacked last week and the sons-of-bitches were able to get my birthday and my Social Security number, which is pretty much everything in today’s society.
I thought I had taken care of things by changing the password on my bank account, but then I got a call from Bank America checking to see if I had applied for a credit card.
Of course, I hadn’t.
Then they told me that someone using my name had applied for a credit card at TD Bank. So, I called them and asked to please rip up that fraudulent application.
I feel violated, exposed and stupid. I’m blaming myself even though over 15 million people are the victims of identity theft each year.
And that brings me back to Ruth Dingfield. When I first saw this bogus email address on my bank account page I wrote to the sender just to see what was going on.
I got some vague response and then when the credit card fraud came up I wrote back telling this scumbag to cease and desist. And “Ruth Dingfield” responded.
“Rob, I’m the one who stole your identify,” the email said. “Do you wanna know who I really am?”
No, I don’t. I wanna see swinging by your neck from the Eiffel Tower with a harpoon through your head. Do you think you could arrange that?
It was creepy actually getting a response from this denizen of the Dark Web, but I guess this is the world in which we live now.
I contacted the Federal Trade Commission and the IRS about the hack and I had to boost the security on my bank account so now I have more passwords than Mata Hari. And I still don’t feel safe.
I’ve got a new credit card and now I freak every time I see a charge I don’t recognize, convinced the bastards have hacked me again.
And it angers me that I’m writing about this bum today of all days, when I really should be focusing on my mother.
I’m feeling all sorts of pressure both personally and professionally and this latest round of misery isn’t helping. I strongly suspect this business with the hacking is going to get worse—possibly much worse—before it gets any better.
But since I’m calling up all these memories of my mom, perhaps the best thing to do is take her advice and aim high when life leaves you low.
Up, up, up…
(I'll be taking of next week for a very important trip. See you soon)