Elementary, My Dear Watson

Day One:  A sunday afternoon phone call from an online clothing vendor in New York asks me if I have authorized a recent purchase of shoes--that is, 2 orders of approx. $350 of shoes.  I quickly look at Spencer wondering if his Mother's Day surprise has just been blown and then reality hits.  "Nope.  Did not authorize that".  The wonderful associate on the phone tells me that whoever has used my debit card also has my phone number because they included that on the order.  Way to go, thief.

He also tells me the name on the order--Pim Goods (for some reason I feel like I should protect the identities of my identity thief, so names have been changed)--information which I keep tucked away, figuring it is a false name, but not too far tucked, a phone number, and the shipping address.  The address is in south side Chicago, which, if you are just tuning in, is where I live.

So: the thief has my debit card number, but not my actual card, my phone number, and rather than living in Mozambique and being the legal representative of somebody who's fortune I am the sole living heir to, they are in my very neck of the woods.  Somebody either has my information on file because I have bought something from them, gone through my mail, or, it could have been an inside job, like a friend (was it you!?!)   Hmmm.... 

I called my bank and talked to some moron who kept telling me that all I need to do is wait until they get money out of my account and then call claims.  Hello, what is so difficult about cancelling my card?!?  I called later and talked to somebody else who actually did cancel my card, and also informed me that Sticky Fingers McShoesalot tried to spend $700 more dollars that day but that my card had already been marked for fraud and so they couldn't. 

Thanks to the responsible clothing vendor, no money was taken from my account.  But I felt very violated.  Vulnerable.  What else did they know about me.  How did they get my information?  Only one person came to mind.  The girl from the Dry Cleaners.  I had just been there three days earlier, and the girl working the counter was not one of the usuals that I had seen there before.  And unlike them, but much more like the rest of south Chicago, she was cold and a little attitude-y.  (Customer service is not really a thing around here).

Day Two:  As soon as working hours began, I called the Dry Cleaners and asked if anybody by the name of "Pim Goods" works there.  This is something I probably shouldn't have done, since my better judgment said was a pseudonym anyway.  The woman's voice on the other end was a  little snappy so I figured it must have been the woman I had dealt with the other day, "There's just me--Vivian, and Shawn who work here.  Is there a problem?" No, no problem.  I got off the phone quickly, as I didn't like talking to Vivian.  I waited a few days to mull it over.

Day Four:  I was on my way home from a friend's house and passed the Dry Cleaners.  I couldn't get Vivian out of my head and I noticed it was Shawn, the very kind man who worked there, who was working that day.  I stepped in and asked him about the name on the order and explained my concern.  I told him that I didn't have much to base my suspicions on, just that I don't know who else in Chicago would have that information.  Shawn was very sincerely interested and after talking through it with me he wrote a note and said that when the owner gets back into town that he was sure he would want to talk to me.  Then we talked through it again.  And again.  And again.  For some reason there was a need to say everything many many times.  I tried to make it very clear that I wasn't trying to raise suspicions, just that I was trying to get an idea of how it could have happened.

Day Nine:  I get a phone call.  It's Vivian from the Cleaners.  She is calling to tell me that the owner is out of town and so he won't be around to get back to me about this message, but that she doesn't know why I would even think that they would ever do that--that would cost them customers and ultimately their jobs.  She repeated herself several times and was effectively scolding me.  I tried to explain to her that I was just trying to figure things out and that I wasn't trying to blame anybody.  After all, I didn't have any real evidence that it was linked to the Dry Cleaners.  It was just the only idea I could come up with.

Day Eleven (today):  I get a call from James, the owner.  I was sort of not excited to talk to him and bring it up all over again after talking in circles with (the very kind and caring) Shawn and being scolded so harshly by Vivian.  But James was very interested and really wanted to know everything that I knew because he wanted to be able to rule out without doubt any of his employees.  So we started going over the story.  When I got to the part about Vivian calling me he was quite surprised and said she really ought not to have done that.  We kept scouring the facts and he really wanted the shipping address, which was lost by me and I could only remember the roundabouts, not the exact address.  So I called the online vendor again and they were able to give me that information one more time.  But this time, the associate said, "would you like the email that was included on that order as well?" Uh, what do you think?  "Okay, let me spell it for you:  V as in victory, I, V as in victory, I, A, N, Blahblah@blahblah.com" (actually email obviously withheld, although I'm tempted to start handing it out and using it to sign up for all sorts of online subscriptions).  As soon as he got to the second V, I started laughing out loud.  "She is sooo BUSTED!" I said.  The associate was a little confused and so I told him that I just figured out exactly who stole my information. 

I called James back a little overly excited to tell him what I found.  I gave him the email address and his response was a very long, dramatic explitive.  Vivian Blahblah was in fact her full name and the address was very near, if not exactly, where ol' Viv lives. She'll be fired first thing tomorrow morning, he said.  Please file the report with the police, he said.  And he'll call me after he talks to her tomorrow.

WhaaaahBAM!!! Case closed.  Just let me blow the smoke off of my finger-pistol.  I've been feeling pretty good.  I mean, I named the criminal within 10 minutes of the crime.  Sigh...when you're good, you're good.

And so Spencer and I watched the new Sherlock Holmes tonight to celebrate.  And made cracks at Vivian's expense... a lot.


disclaimer:  I realize I switched tense in the middle.  Possibly more than once.  It's the middle of the night.  No time for proofreading.  Sorry.