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Friday, October 7, 2011

Reverse Identity Theft, or How I Became Ms. Witherspoon

Reverse Identity Theft, or How I Became Ms. Witherspoon

I didn’t set out to be Ms. Witherspoon.  I didn’t try, or want to be her.  She morphed to me in the middle of a July night without me knowing.  She’s a bad, bad lady and she’s trying to bring me down with her.

It all started when my cell phone carrier, Which Shall Remain Un-Named, refused to cooperate.  I called to tell Customer Service (I call them Cuss-tomer Service because they make me want to cuss.  OK, they make me actually cuss.) that if in order to talk on the phone I had to stand at the northwest end of the pool outside and touch the bug screen. (I needed to differentiate between the bug screen and the cell phone screen.)


A polite but firm agent named Arvind said, “But you have coverage there, Miss.  I think you must have a microwave oven on that is disruptive and causing interference.”



“But Arvind,” I replied, “This isn’t a pacemaker.  People use their cell phones around microwave ovens all the time.”


“Well how can you be touching a screen and be outside at a pool at the same time, Miss?” he said.  “This isn’t possible.  You have a problem there.”


“I’m in Florida, Arvind.  If we don’t have giant screens around the pool, it becomes a humungous Petri dish for mosquito larvae.  And now and then the occasional alligator takes a dip.”


“In that case, I suggest that you upgrade to the Yokomoto 875 which I can offer you today only at $299.99.  It’s water resistant and since you have a large pool –


“No.  I just want my phone to work.”


“Miss, I have the map up on my screen, and it’s showing me that your area is orange, which means you have total coverage and our towers have strong signals there.  I’m happy to report that you are completely in the orange zone and you do not have to stand by your screen.”


“Arvind, your map can be rainbow colored.  I’m telling you I don’t have coverage.”


And so it went until I got fed up and switched carriers.

The problem is that when I switched, I apparently was given Ms. Witherspoon’s old number and there are people trying to catch up with her.



First came the creditors.  Over and over they insisted I call their collections departments, until it was getting annoying enough that I did.  I explained that I am not Ms. Witherspoon and how I was just assigned her number.

They didn’t buy it.

And they were mean.



“Enough of this, Ms. Witherspoon.  It’s ridiculous.  Go to Western Union TODAY and send a payment.”


“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you.  I’m not Witherspoon.”


“Like we haven’t heard THAT one before.  You were loaned money on good faith.  Do the right thing and pay it back.  That’s what regular people DO,” she said.


I was starting to feel like I owed her money, even though I never had an account with them.
  She even looked up a relative of Mrs. Withersppon's and said, "Drea Witherspoon has good credit! Borrow some money from her!"

We bantered like this for a while until I was fairly certain she believed that I wasn’t Ms. Witherspoon.  Or that she wasn’t getting money.  But before she hung up, she demanded to know where Ms. Witherspoon was.


  Probably with LaKesha.  Because the next call I got was from Mr. Strong, was left a message saying that he understood LaKesha’s disciplinary problems in the classroom were being addressed.  LaKesha had assaulted another student and Mr. Strong wanted to assure Ms. Witherspoon that measures were being taken.


I called Mr. Strong to tell him that I’m not Ms. Witherspoon and I don’t have LaKesha.

“But you’re on our call list as the parent,” he said, “and I can’t release that kind of information to anyone but the parent.”


“Well, I don’t want to know about LaKesha’s bullying.  I just want to get off your call list because I’m not Ms. Witherspoon,” I repeated for the millionth time.


“I’m sorry, but it’s the policy to notify the parents when something of this nature occurs,”

he said.


“Listen.  Mr. Strong.  I don’t know where Ms. Witherspoon and her brood of unruly children are.  They’re using up a lot of minutes on my call plan because I have to keep calling people and telling them that I don’t owe them money or my kid didn’t beat up their kid, and I’m afraid the next call is going to be that I cut someone’s cocaine with baby powder.  So please.  Please.  Take me off your call list.”


Mr. Strong thought for a second and then he seemed to realize that I didn't "sound" like Mrs. Witherspoon. 

“Come to think of it, LaKesha Witherspoon's mother is usually threatening to beat me up by this part of the phone call.  Sorry about that.  I’ll get you off the list.”


Thanks, I appreciate it,” I told him, “and next time you see the kid, kick her butt.”

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