by Corey Deitz
“Dying is easier than dating,” he thought to himself.
But, he also knew he needed an accomplice who could share his good fortune and mitigate his dread of a lonely suicide.
So, he opened his browser, and out of habit went straight to Google then typed in the following:
“online dating crazy bitch gorgeous”
Google thought for a split second and then spit back the top search results. Ford slowly scanned the choices, whispering to himself the short descriptions.
“BitchBatter.com – For Weak Men Who Like Strong Women We Say Let Them Eat Cake!”
“S&M&M&Ms.com – The Destination for Sadists and Masochists Who Like Chocolate.”
“Matches.com – For Pyros and Arsonists Looking to Light a Fire in Their Love Lives”
“SteampunkSingles.com – Rub Your Rusty Old Shit Up Against These Gearboxes, Baby!”
“eHarmedASpouse.com – Where Victims and Perpetrators of Domestic Violence Hit it Off, Again!”
“FuckUandDie.com – For Men and Women Who Expect a Bad Relationship after Good Sex.”
“Wow,” thought Ford. “I don’t think I ever realized how desperate people really are. I thought it was just me but, it’s not. The whole world is sinking into a shithole of depression.”
All of a sudden, he didn’t feel so badly about his pathetic love life.
“How can I go wrong when there are so many screwed up women just waiting for a prince like me?”
“FuckUand Die.com seemed like the place to start. The sex part was already easy and considering he was offering himself up on a rollercoaster ride straight to Grim Reaper Amusement Park, worrying about a bad relationship – or any long-term relationship – was a moot point.
“This is perfect,” he mused, nodding his head.
So, Ford signed up using Kitty’s credit card and created his profile. He answered the basic questions like marital status, age, height, weight, income, education, religion, and occupation. It was generally uninteresting tripe which he knew had zero chance of intriguing any female. Then, on the last line it said, “What kind of match are you looking for?”
He wrote:
“Clyde seeks Bonnie. Looking for someone who wants to see the world, live beyond my means, and taunt the coppers. Are you my Bonnie?”
With that Ford looked his profile over one last time, saved it, and logged out.
Chapter 4
So, the plan had been put into action. While waiting to see if the perfect woman would respond to his new profile on FuckUandDie.com, Ford moved ahead with the next step – securing adequate funding. Being a novice to credit card theft, he decided the best way to get better at it was to do some research. He was always a quick study when the subject was interesting.
Ford jumped back on the Internet and began to tutor himself. His goal wasn’t necessarily to obtain a lot of cards with mediocre credit limits. Rather, he figured the best thing to score would be a wallet full of cards with exceptional credit limits. But, to do it would mean a bit of credit limit leap-frogging. That is to say, using the first Kitty Visa as proof of credibility to qualify for a second card with twice the limit, then a third card with a substantial amount more, and on from there.
You may have never thought about it but, obtaining credit is a process akin to trying to get your first real job. Remember when people used to say you weren’t qualified for a job because you didn’t have any experience? Then, you would reply, “But, how do I get job experience if nobody will hire me?”
“How the fuck do we know?” the world would retort. “Not our fucking problem.”
Well, the credit card game is very much the same. If you don’t have credit then you can’t get credit. But, the minute you have some debt and somebody has extended you credit then, every other scum-of-a-lender wants some of that action, too! Credit card companies are simply loan sharks that have been legitimized by the law.
If you’re the kind of person who pays everything in cash then, you are of no use to the bank issuing a credit card. The fact is, few want to extend you credit because you simply haven’t proven you can spend their money sufficiently! Credit card companies can’t make money off of people who pay the balance on their cards every month. They don’t want winners. Those kind of responsible individuals are a drag on corporate banking profits! They want losers. What they really are looking for are controllable risks - losers with a conscience.
A controllable risk is somebody who can’t curtail their own spending but is honest enough not to break their apartment lease and move out-of-state in the middle of the night leaving no forwarding address.
A controllable risk is somebody who cannot stop charging Chinese take-out but is still reachable by phone.
The credit card people don’t care if you owe them money. They just care that they can charge you interest on the money they’ve already lent you. They are quite willing to wait patiently for the principal. But, they drool in anticipation over the monthly interest.
The Visa that Kitty Fallon was issued had a credit limit of $5000 dollars. In comparison to what Ford was planning, it was a paltry sum, indeed. So, the next thing he needed to do was find card-issuers willing to geometrically increase that offer. Bank of America, Capitol One, Discover - they all looked like good prospects. Ford began the tedious process of filling out online applications for each one. But, the end of each application was the part he enjoyed the most. He was highly amused that anyone could literally “pinky swear” to the “terms” of the lender’s credit card simply by checking a box. Apparently, his “word” was good enough for most major banking concerns.
After all, who would lie about something like that?
One assumption Ford made – and correctly - was that Kitty Fallon would not have information available at any of the major credit reporting companies like Experian or TransUnion. After all, the issuance of Kitty Fallon’s credit card was a fluke to begin with. There was no reason to believe the error had self-perpetuated or had long tentacles into financial databases. So, when Capitol One and the other computer servers attempted to verify Kitty’s credit history, there would be none. Thus, most of the “if-then” logic in the software’s application approval programming would be thwarted.
Not that it matters too much but this point might justify a short explanation. On a basic level, “if-then” statements in computer programming are one way artificial intelligence works. The programmer writes code that dictates “if” something is “true” “then” do this or “else” go to a different place in the logic and execute the next instruction. The coder writes a lot of “if then” statements and the computer analyses each one until it finds the one that is true. A good programmer tries to think of all the variables that might come up but, in the event none of the “if then” statements resolve things, the next best thing is to make sure the computer doesn’t get caught in a perpetual logic loop.
Because if the computer gets confused and crashes then, nobody makes money.
Simply put, if the computer is processing a credit application where the data is valid (name, address, etc.) but the credit report is missing or unavailable, the end result will more than likely be:
“If” data is valid but there is no credit history
“Then” issue the card because this bank is greedy.
See how nicely that works?
For much the same reason Ford’s dog was issued a Visa card in the first place, he counted on similar errors committed by computers which would ultimately annoy and be dismissed by humans who are too lazy to investigate. It’s easier to press the “ESC” key and continue sipping your Diet Coke than it is to pull up the programming and investigate why software is hanging, not executing, or spitting up an error code.
For many people laziness is next to Godliness and in case you haven’t noticed, God’s name is all over our currency. So, when it comes to your paycheck, he’s already forgiven you for being such a slacker.
Ford was pleased with his initial foray into
credit card theft but, he wasn’t ready to pat himself on the back quite yet. His scheme required much grander credit limits than he expected to receive with the straw men accounts he was creating based on Kitty’s “seed account.” Even if five more credit cards arrived in the next week or so with slightly higher limits, he anticipated he would run through them quickly and they would soon be worthless.
“I want a much longer run than that,” he thought to himself.
He began to daydream and a childhood memory was triggered. He thought about how his mother used to drive Ford and his brother to the rich neighborhood for Halloween.
“You’ll get better candy,” she would tell them.
“Are we allowed to Trick or Treat here?” asked Ford.
“Sure. You’re wearing costumes. Nobody knows who you are or even if you’re from this neighborhood,” she replied. “Besides, these folks are loaded. They’ll never miss it.”
It was as if mom took on the role of Robin Hood for her kids, taking from the rich and giving to the poor. It was a reasonable rationale for a victimless crime. After all, the folks who lived in the rich neighborhood had plenty of everything – including candy. They encouraged kids to come to their doors with hands outstretched, begging for chocolate and candy corn.
At least that’s what mom said.
But, the best part about Halloween was a nearby restaurant which had a Halloween tradition that seemed to foment a certain amount of the larceny. The eatery would accommodate an endless line of kids in costumes by giving each child a new quarter and a bowl of ice cream. The ice cream was tolerable but the real prize was the twenty-five cent piece. In a world where pennies are thrown into bags to simulate a gift of currency, nothing made children greedier than a new quarter. Ford and his friends spent weeks before Halloween assembling and practicing costume changes in preparation of going through the line as many times as possible without being detected.
It suddenly occurred to Ford he had previously dallied in credit and identity theft while ensconced within the innocent confines of his own childhood. Who would have thought life could prepare you so well - even in the absence of a necessary reason? Masking his identity on Halloween in neighborhoods he did not live in and repeated representations at a restaurant that was generous to a fault seemed perfectly suited to providing a life lesson.
“I need to go Trick or Treating again,” smiled Ford.
Only this time, he wasn’t going to seek out packets of M&Ms and Three Musketeers Bars. He would be looking to bag unsolicited credit card offers. Every single day banks blindly mail millions of letters to people with credit card offers. Banks target wealthy homeowners, demographics with mortgages, people with a history of purchases, and individuals in dozens of other categories. Most of these unsolicited offers are discarded, a small percentage are acted upon but every single letter has one thing in common: it sits for hours - sometimes days - in a mailbox, unprotected by theft. Nobody much notices when the mail goes in and when it is taken out. Snail mail, the remnants of our once-thriving postal service, is less than memorable. That’s why all Ford had to do was go to the rich neighborhood in Kunkle and discreetly rifle through mailboxes. It was just that easy. It was easier than Halloween because you didn’t even have to ring any doorbells. The fact is, it is so ridiculously easy to compromise one’s personal information, it should leave you uncomfortable.
To be clear: all of us are sitting ducks.
Easy or not, Ford was pleased with the plan but stopped short of congratulating himself for being such a genius. After all, you should never get too cocky because that’s when you start making mistakes.
To review, Ford’s modus operandi was now three-fold in its illegality:
Theft for stealing U.S. mail - a felony.
Identity theft for taking credit applications - another felony
Credit card fraud for using them - a third felony.
After multiple counts for each crime the amount of time spent in prison would guarantee Ford a stint well into old age.
It was a heavy punishment to ponder.
That’s why you would think with the morality of the world weighing down your conscience; it would become almost impossible to function. But, honestly? When you’ve got a scam playing out fairly smoothly, the more dollar signs you see the less you worry about the consequences. Money seduces the most honest of men. If you ever have the chance to make a few thousand bucks fast, insist you be paid in twenty-dollar bills and roll them up nice and tight. Then, put the cash into your jeans, position the roll against the inside of your pocket, tap your crotch with it, and watch yourself get an erection.
The only thing better than sex is money and the only thing better than money is…well, fuck: there is nothing actually better than money. Ford thought anybody who told you there was, was either some poor slob who had never made more than minimum wage or just an outright a liar.
So, nothing really was going to deter him from making this happen. He thought the simplicity itself was the most brilliant part of all. First, nobody fails to notice junk mail that doesn’t arrive because it’s unsolicited. So, there would be no calls to the Post Office about missing letters. A person cannot miss what a person is not expecting to arrive.
Secondly, the credit card offers extended to rich homeowners would be substantially higher because banks often market and solicit based on zip codes. The people in poor zip codes get $1,000 limits. The big spenders in rich zip codes get $5,000 and $10,000 dollar credit limit offers.
Thirdly, taking from the rich was almost a noble thing, at least according to some folks. Wasn’t that the point of all that “redistribution” talk from the government? Not that Ford paid much attention to politics. But, what about all that income equality stuff he had heard about? Where did those wealthy folks get off being so successful and having money while he had to suffer the bad behavior of drunks and stoners looking for Beefy Bunce at the Kunkle Kash ‘n Karry?
All of a sudden, being a credit card and identity thief almost seemed respectable!
But, there was one last detail. It was clear to him if he was going to “Trick or Treat” again, he would definitely need a costume.
“Mailbox Inspector sounds good,” he thought. He wanted to look the part yet, not draw too much attention to himself. Ford needed an outfit, a quasi-uniform, that was official looking but nondescript at the same time. He wanted to be appropriate, but not too noticeable. There was only one place he knew of where he could find the perfect combination of clothing for next to nothing.
The Goodwill Store.
He drove there straight away and began to scan the racks for just the right combination of clothing that would allow him to masquerade as someone who looked official and seemed to know what he was doing.
You know: like someone who works for the TSA.
Let me tell you one of the secrets of life. Never underestimate the power of a uniform. It’s amazing how much respect we defer to someone when they are wearing a uniform – or even something that is uniform-like. Certainly the military, fire fighters, and police do command respect.
But, appearances can be deceiving.
For instance, uniforms cannot cover up a bad cop.
Nor can they mask a lazy postal worker.
And a brother-in-arms will tell you they cannot hide a cowardly soldier.
In addition, no uniform can confer abilities simply because of the nature of the arrangement of its threads.
A bumbling security guard is still inept at his job.
An obnoxious employee at a big box electronics store wearing a company shirt is still a bad example of customer service.
A kid dressed as a Boy Scout who is cruel to a neighbor’s dog is still a little jerk.
But, uniforms can create an immediate impression and its only subsequent inquiry which can determine whether it is fitting attire for the individual or the person is just a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Ironically, even sheep’s clothing can be a uniform for a bad w
olf.
In this instance, Ford was the wolf but he had to pretend to be the sheep.
He needed to look the part while he was carefully “inspecting” those lovely mailboxes of the well-off while quietly sifting through their contents for the appropriate bank offers.
It wasn’t long before he found a pair of pants and a shirt with epilates. He settled on a quasi-military look and framed it nicely using a dark, thin, solid tie which he dug out from halfway down in a clearance bin. His costume complete, Ford now headed to the local sign-making store. There, he asked the young lady behind the counter to make him one magnetic sign, two-foot long, one-foot high with black lettering on a white background.
It simply said: “Inspector.”
His costume was complete. All that remained now was to dress up and look the part. But, first he had to do a bit of recon. It was important to know when the mail arrived (so he wouldn’t run into the postal delivery worker) and when the neighborhood was the quietest during the day (so he would have little chance of interacting with residents.)
He went by the Kunkle Kash ‘n Karry to pick up a couple of Mountain Dews, a heat-em-up burger, and two packs of cheap peanut butter cookies to keep him watered and full while he staked out the rich neighborhood. All of a sudden his life of crime was taking on an air of excitement and adventure. In Ford’s eyes, it was starting to feel a little like a video game. He had opponents, he had a mission, there were rewards, and best of all he was team owner, player, and referee. Ford’s credit card and identify theft plan was nothing short of great American ingenuity.
Up until this point it had all been preparation for the actual deed. Truthfully, the pre-game was much harder than the playoff. The caper Ford had in mind would be quick, easy, and productive.
