Friday, February 06, 2004

Tale of the Overly Ambitious Would-Be Identity Thief

Bad luck comes in threes. First, there is the cancer. Then, there is the job not gotten after 8 mos. of unemployment. Now there is the check.

Right. The check. The check someone tried to write for $15,000 on our checking account. if! The thief seemed to have overestimated our net worth by about three zeros.

Imagine my surprise...Or don't imagine it. It was a karmic thing. I never open the mail. OK, I do open the mail but not too often. Mail usually sits around for weeks and weeks. Bills--hmmmm. I used to have a special box called the 'box of doom' just for the bills. A nice box to hide them in until I was prepared to face them...This is one thing I haven't quite adjusted to as a married person. Because the boy puts the mail in strange places and it isn't just fake hidden but in fact really lost. It is sometimes months before it gets opened.

Today, for some reason I opened something the bank sent us. Normally, this would be one of those bits of correspondence that will never, ever see the light of day.

Was my spidey sense tingling? Don't know.

The bank sent us a little note to say that we were $12,000.00 overdrawn (the $3,000.00 was our overdraft protection which is basically like this ongoing loan that we continually transfer to low interest credit cards). Now that was quite frightening. I must confess that I instantly thought: What have I done? Thinking that maybe I pushed a few too many zeroes when using the debit card or something. Or I had just given most of my take home pay for the year.

This reminds me of the time when I was sailing and a friend capsized the boat. When the mast hit me on the head and I felt myself going under the water I just felt so guilty. I knew my parents would be really upset and felt remorse that I hadn't somehow evaded the giant mast that had cracked my skull.

In any case, I was ready to take the blame. But it was a check. I'm dense, but not that dense. Plus, I never write checks. The internet is my checkbook.

While we were out of town taking care of chico's family member's cancer they decided to renovate our apartment in various ways. We came home--saw the checks on the dresser. He thought I put them there and I thought he put them there.

The manager was very indignant that I could suspect one of the people who had traipsed in and out of our apartment while we were gone of stealing that check. Again, I felt guilty. How could I accuse someone of such a thing?

Well, I guess...because the thing happened? I backed down rapidly from my classist assumption that someone who is a laborer might have stolen from me. But then asserted myself to point out (a) it isn't because he worked on the apartment--it was because he was in the apartment and (b) anyone can have a crack problem. It doesn't make you a bad person. Maybe he just needs help. Just ask Marion Barry.

I messed up the crime scene. I was rooting through all the checkbooks (I have skads of check books--all useless now--and they were cool Universal Studios old time monster duplicate checks. Frankenstein, Dracula, the Mummy. Dang.) I never even keep track of my checks. I just grab them from a semi-full box--they are never in sequence.

The cop who came over--plump, hale and hearty with somewhat garbled diction--didn't even want to see the crime scene. Quite the disappointment. I wanted dusting for fingerprints. I wanted each one of those cardboard boxes sent to the crime lab. I wanted CSI, man.

Oh yeah, under the assumption our crime scene would be of interest we had a terrified moment when we realized the drawer with the checks was also the drawer with the weed in it. Realizing this, I hid it and husband did not see and then freaked me out by screaming: THE POT!!! in his terror that our status as crime victims would end up with our own arrest.

I mean, if you are going to steal a check it seems that you would also steal the pot. The guy just wasn't too sharp.

I hate to say it but it's the baby's fault. I don't want to say the baby's unlucky but we haven't won the lottery and if we hadn't needed to get rid of the lead and the gas leak none of this would have happened.

(Here was my evil post about how our baby could have grown up to be LeadMan! But I wrote this before I conceived. I don't even drink non-organic milk these days. Of course now I'm a total non-smoking, organic carrot eating freaked out mommy.)

Ouch. He's kicking me now! Sorry baby-cakes. Bad luck or not we still love you.


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