In My Opinion

Rivenbark: Steal my identity -- and take the laundry, too

January 11, 2014 

I don’t shop at Target very often because as everyone, I mean EVERYONE, says, you go in for a bag of pet food and a Snickers bar and you come out having spent $100. Just try and get out of there without spending (or, rather, charging) $100 on stuff that you didn’t even know you needed. It simply can’t be done if you are a true Amurican.

Despite this, I did manage to be part of the giant cyber breach that occurred in Target stores the month before Christmas. I, no surprise, had gone there for a bag of cat food and a Snickers bar and ended up tossing a Blu-Ray player into my cart along with a bunch of Christmas cards I forgot to mail, some books, really cute wrapping paper and some bargain DVDs because, duh, I have a new Blu-Ray player, or weren’t you paying attention?

As a mere four-times-a-year Target shopper, I didn’t even realize I had been affected until I got a longish letter from my bank assuring me that there is no need for concern unless the pimply-faced clown who lives in his mama’s basement and spends his day hacking into huge retailers’ data systems and eating spray cheese on Ritz crackers, actually uses my debit card.

I feel better already.

My bank went on to inform me that there is little evidence that I am at increased risk for identity theft because it doesn’t appear that the hacker(s) acquired the stuff they would need for full-on screw-up-your-whole-life-forever levels of theft.

You want my identity, clown? Here. Go right ahead. But if you are going to BE me, you better be prepared for the bad as well as the good.

If you dare steal my identity, I expect you to see it through. I better see you doing the six loads of laundry I do every single Sunday and don’t you even THINK about trying to get one more week out of the sheets and towels. That’s gross.

If you want my identity, you better be prepared to write a humor column (yes, that is what this is, believe it or not) once a week and you must also be prepared to take occasional heat for its contents if you “get political” or make fun of the word Amurica. You are warned.

If you want to steal my identity so dang bad, you also will be expected to take my Aunt Verlie to the mall, cafeteria, drugstore and all doctor’s appointments, remaining cheerful and patient even as she complains about your “Mario Andretti” driving style and recent slight weight gain.

Oh, and you’ll also have to clean the litter boxes around here because apparently YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO EVER NOTICES THEY SMELL.

Of course, none of these are all that horrible. In fact, you will probably enjoy my little life just fine. Lord knows I do. Oh, and have fun at the gynecologist!

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