Identity Theft leads to Existential Crisis

Who am I? Am I me, or am I the guy kiting hot checks at the mall?

My feelings for telemarketers, phone pollsters and other strangers calling the house are downright pathological.  If callers refuse to identify themselves before I confirm my identity, I hang up.  I am registered on the national no call list.  So no surprise that when I got a sketchy call the other night, interrupting reading time with Bubba, I was pissed.  When the caller mentioned something about checks I'd written to a department store, I went ballistic.  I may have raised my voice a bit, and threatened to call my (non-existent) lawyer.

The caller eventually identified the company and gave me a phone number and website.  The site looked like a drunk teen had put it up in six minutes, the phone number was answered with a generic message that did not identify the company.  Scam, scam, scam.

Before calling the police, I tried the department store.  Oh, yes, says the helpful lady, that is our collection agency.

Oops.

It suddenly dawns on me that I don't know where my checkbook is (who writes checks anymore?).  I call my bank, find that no money is yet missing from the account, and cancel the remaining checks.  About five seconds after I hang up, I find my checkbook and officially get creeped out.

The next morning, a letter arrives from another collection agency.

Seems I've been doing quite a bit of shopping.

Someone has been using my name, address, phone, driver's license number, though not my actual bank account number, to write big checks.  Those checks bounced, and the stores are looking to get their money.  From me.

I sign up for LifeLock. I call the cops.  Or, I try to call the cops.  As it turns out, local law enforcement is not exactly scrambling to take on another identity theft case.  I call 311, which takes me to Austin Police Department.  In an effort to determine jurisdiction I am then transferred to West Lake PD, to Travis Country Sheriff (Central), Travis County Sheriff (West), back to APD, back to Travis County Sheriff (Central).  They send out a squad car to my house.

Which sends Bubba into paroxysms of delight.  Actual cop in his actual house.  The SCSC (Subsonic Cool Shit Call) goes out, and two of his buddies magically show up at the door.

Then actual cop shows up and he's actually pretty cool.  I shoo the boys onto the porch and give as much info as I can to the cop.  After a few minutes, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the boys have decided that having a sheriff's deputy in plain view is the right time for them to all produce enormous pocket knives, and start whittling.  Criminal geniuses, they're not.

I ask the cop to go arrest them.

He does.

I wish I had captured the moment on film when the cop stepped into the doorway and asked "what are you boys doing?"  Blood left faces; poop hit tighty whities.  The deputy cracked up and showed them all the cool stuff in his cruiser.

My hope is that my son will only get this view once.