A few weeks ago I noticed a problem with my financial situation: My money was leaving home and not coming back with anything to show for it. I found this out by reading my debit card statement. It seems that I was making large purchases, several times a day and the money in my account was dwindling fast. Strange. I didnt remember buying a new computer from Barts Computer and Chicken (17 locations in Kentucky to serve you). Nor had I made any cellular telephone purchases from Folsom California.

It took me a while but I discovered that someone had gotten a hold of my debit card number and was running around the country side buying things with my money. I was raging mad. Ok well not really. My ex-girlfriend revenge says that raging mad is no longer allowed in the house and if I want to be raging mad I would need to go outside. That didnt work for me because I did not feel like putting on pants. So I settled for slightly ticked off and stayed comfortable in my undershorts.

I try to be an informed consumer, really I do. But for the life of me I could not remember what all those identity theft television commercials told me to do when this happened. All I could recall is seeing a couple blue haired old ladies sitting on a couch and talking about new motorcycles they purchased. Some how this did not seem like the proper solution. So I went to my ex-girlfriend revenge for advice.

According to my ex-girlfriend revenge I would need to cancel the debit card and contact the companies that were making the charges to get the whole mess solved. This resolution created even more problems. Canceling the card meant canceling my subscription to Catfish Monthly and the cheese log of the month club. Of course I was not thrilled about allowing someone else to spend all of my money either. Decisions, decisions..

So I called the bank and canceled the debit card. I was informed by a bank employee that I should contact the companies and try to resolve the issue first and then come down and fill out paperwork to file fraud charges. Oh joy! I hate going to the bank. Not only do I always get to the bank when it is busy but then I get stuck with the cranky teller who had a fight with her cat and is now asking for twelve forms of identification and a blood sample to cash a three dollar rebate check.

Thanks to the miracle of computers I knew the exact companies that were taking my money from me. This was both good and bad. Good that I knew, but bad that my ex-girlfriend revenge was making me call them. I am not afraid of these people but I simply hate talking on the telephone. Speaking to another person on the phone requires me to think. When I dont think about what I am saying things go bad. The last time I answered the phone it was the pastor. My ex-girlfriend revenge was not around to stop me from saying The dog just shit on the new carpet, can I call you back?

Anyway I decided to start with Ripoff Wireless, as they had taken the most money from me. I was very familiar with Ripoff Wireless, they have commercials all over the television offering three thousand anytime minutes as long as you make calls within the calling area (a massive four block radius from their home location in Indonesia), free incoming calls (from people standing next to you in months ending with r), and the largest wireless network for fewer dropped calls (the only calls that get through are their customer service reps trying to sell you more anytime minutes).

I placed a call to their headquarters. It took a good hour to get through the push this button for this option song and dance. Of course there was not one single option that had anything to do with why I was calling. So I took a shot with the customer service option.

Now, I have always been a firm believer in the fact that there is no such thing as customer service. There is customer irritation, customer piss off, and the ever popular customer goes postal. Actually servicing the needs of the customer would be against company policy. So I had low expectations for this call.

I finally reached a live person after listening to three hours of Highway to Hell performed by the Vienna Boys Choir. The conversation went something like this:

Thank you for calling Ripoff Wireless, can I have your wireless phone number starting with the area code please?

I dont have a wireless phone number.

So you are wanting to purchase one of our wireless phone packages?

No, you are charging my debit card and I want you to stop it.

So you are a customer, can I have your wireless phone number please?

No, I am not a customer but you are charging my debit card, please stop it.

Sir, if you are not a customer why would we be charging your debit card?

I dont know, but you are charging my debit card and I want you to stop doing it.

I need to transfer you to the financial department, please hold.

And she was gone. I was transferred to the financial department who then asked if I knew someone by the name of Faheed Crumbswothington. I said I did not. This was the person who apparently had lost his own identity and decided that he wanted mine in the form of two thousand dollars worth of cellular phone equipment and a brand new laptop computer from Barts Computer and Chicken (free bucket of feet and beaks with every new laptop purchase while supplies last).

By the end of the day I had spoken to so many people at Ripoff Wireless and Barts Computer and Chicken (50% off a large mashed potato side dish with Pentium purchase) that I considered inviting them to my next birthday party.

I did however get some resolution in the matter. Ripoff Wireless agreed to stop charging my debit card and give back the money as long as I agreed to file charges of fraud against Faheed. I considered giving him a break because with a name like Faheed he probably had a lot of problems, but on the other hand he was stealing from me and making me cancel my subscription to the cheese log of the month club. I decided that they should put him in jail after all but only because I really like cheese.

Now that this has happened to me I have a bit of fear about using my debit card. Strange how you think this kind of thing will never happen to you. I felt like a child again. I called my parents to ask for advice, something I swore I would never do again once I turned into an asshole teenager so many years ago. But still I felt the need to have some kind of comforting when a situation I had never faced came along.

The moral of this story is: Never use a debit card. Bury all your money, sell your home and push around a grocery cart all day collecting bottles and eating leftover cheese doodles. That way not even Faheed Crumbsworthington would want your identity.

C Weaver is the webmaster, co-founder and writer for The Laughing Gas, http://www.thelaughinggas.com