To Catch A Thief

I had always thought that the idea of crime was intriguing. With the right person crime can be romanticized, made to look both unavoidable yet still noble. Take, for instance, the former cat burglar John Robie, played by Cary Grant in Hitchcock's To Catch A Thief. Reformed yet debonair, courtly with a hint of an edge, Robie uses his knowledge of the criminal mind to get the bad guy and, naturally, to woo the girl. Then, of course, there's Robin Hood, who depending on which version of the story you ascribe to, is either a metaphorical or a literal fox, stealing jewels and money from the less-than-deserving bourgeoisie to give to the humble and deserving poor. Now that is crime I can get behind.

Even when it's not intriguing per se, crime (or the attempt at criminal activity) can be downright hilarious. Have you ever seen Chris Hansen's "To Catch A Predator"? Chris and a band of intrepid police officers set up sting operations to snare would-be criminals by their own bumbling gullibility. (To really get a feel for the nature of the program, the naked cookie-eating pedophile is, in my opinion, award-winning reality television.)

Though my notions of what crime should be are largely dictated by what I have seen on television or read in books, this past Memorial Day was disillusioning. Identity theft has a way of doing that to you.

Why someone would want to steal the identity of a college-loan laden 23 year old who lacks both a steady income and a firm grasp on reality is a complete mystery. You're supposed to steal from the rich and give to the poor; the poor ain't got no money. Choosing me as a target is the first indication that this criminal was perhaps not the smartest to ever graze the interwebs. What amount of time would it have taken to discover my background information on that crazy little site called Google, four seconds? 0.1? 

The first red flag came while I was casually perusing my online statement (as you do). I noticed a recent purchase for some StubHub tickets. Though I was fairly confident that I hadn't, in fact, purchased any tickets recently, I still reserved a bit of hope that maybe they would be for an event that I would want to go to. Was Ray Lamontagne coming to town? Jason Mraz? Did I blindly purchase double Lady Gaga tickets for each night she was in Boston? I called Stubhub and discovered that the tickets were for a Jets game in September.

Let's play the hypothetical game. Even if I were the type that watches football, I wouldn't be watching the Jets. And even if I would want to watch the Jets, I wouldn't have purchased tickets to an actual game. And even if I were to be the type that actually attended football games, I would almost never have the foresight to purchase something four months in advance. I barely have this weekend mapped out; September is but a comically far away blip in my future. So it's safe to say: I did not purchase those tickets.

My curiosity sufficiently peaked, I felt the need to look back through my statements. There, I found out that "I" had also purchased a domain name, network software, and various other internet accoutrements. But why would I purchase that stuff when Google Blogs gives it to you for free? Honestly, my mama didn't raise no fool.

The bank later informed me that my accounts had been "compromised," which is just an official way of saying that someone had hacked into my account and bought some stuff. But "compromised" sounds so much more Jason Bourne, I just might go with that. "Compromised" makes it sound like my account was something that needed to be defended at all costs (...it wasn't.) Commander, the account has been compromised. Activate the deflector shields!

Stealing my passwords and credit card was a neat trick, I will give him that. I can't even hack into my boyfriend's Facebook account, and I actually have all of his passwords. But to be perfectly honest, I am a little disappointed in my thief's apparent stupidity. He left a mailing address and an IP address, thusly identifying his computer and a potential pick-up spot. Could these things be fake? Yeah, probably. But obviously they will lead the police a little further down the path towards swift and righteous justice. And as my bank assured me, they would do it in ten-to-twelve business days. (That's how the rest of the American legal system works too, right?)

My disappointment was not limited to just the fact that money was stolen from my bank account. I was also a little crushed when I learned his alias. Though my name was attached to the credit card information he had stolen, the name that he had chosen to give out with the purchases he made was one Jonah Flower. Jonah. Flower. He had christened himself in the likeness of the biblical prophet that for three days and three nights was swallowed whole by a whale, as well as the one thing that people give when they want to express love and/or regret for mistakes made. Jonah Flower. The name Jonah Flower conjures up images of innocent little barefoot children born of former hippies, not internet fraud. Jonah Flower would never steal your lunch money, but he might bake you oatmeal flax cookies and have a deep affection for all things tie-dye.

It's actually a shame. Choosing a love-child alias is something that I totally would do, assuming I might ever find myself in that situation. (Ed. note: I probably wouldn't, mom.) Theoretically, I'd go with something like Daisy GoLightly, or Sunshine Marley, or better yet, Apple Flynn. Mr. Jonah Flower and I seriously had the potential to become friends, if one were to overlook the whole "money stealing" thing.

Illegal credit card purchasing? Cary Grant would never do that. Robin Hood would never do that. Shame on you, "Jonah Flower" from "San Francisco." As my dad told me, "welcome to the real world." I think I'd prefer Cary Grant's reality, thanks.