That's the conclusion I've reached after years of doing stunts like The Credit Card Prank, where I forged fake names to credit card receipts, and The Visa Prank, where dim-witted customer service representatives let me break into credit card accounts.
So when I got an offer in the mail for a new "IdentityMonitor" service from Citi, which supposedly protects you from identity theft, I laughed. First, because I was sure it wouldn't work. Second, because they were offering it to one of my own stolen identities:
"John Myers" is one of the many pseudonyms that I've used for pulling off various credit card pranks: a real credit card with a fake name. I was amused that Citi was offering me the chance to "guard my good name," even though the name wasn't good.
So I immediately signed up for the identity theft service, using my thieved name.
"I love you, honey. Please toss that coin into the
imaginary ATM while you smother our daughter."
For the next few months, I held off actually using my Citi card, because that would arouse suspicion. Week after week, I just kept it in a drawer, stoically paying the $9.95 monthly fee for the identity theft "service."
My plan was to lull Citi into thinking this was an unused account. Then, when my credit card was suddenly "stolen," it would trigger every alarm bell at Citi IdentityMonitor headquarters, down to the electrified jockstrap that I've heard their CEO is required to wear for just such an emergency.
Finally, the big day arrived. I "stole" my own credit card, and went on a little shopping spree.
Thinking like a thief, I first headed for Copley Place, one of the most expensive shopping malls in America, where I bought a new wardrobe at Armani Exchange. I picked out a new shirt and sport coat, and a pair of those ridiculous wraparound sunglasses that make people look like The Fly.
Heads up to everyone who's still wearing oversized sunglasses: YOU'RE NOT BONO.
I also bought a leather cap, because I wanted to look like Sluggo. Five bucks says that little thug ended up doing jail time, probably for sexually assaulting Nancy. "How do I look?" I asked the impeccably-dressed Armani employee who helped me.
For a moment, absolute revulsion flickered across her face, then she caught herself. "Not bad," she said, nodding her head. I could see little cash register signs in her eyes as she calculated her commission. "I think it's you."
I paid for my purchases with my "protected" Citi credit card. The total came to nearly $500, and I signed the electronic touchpad with the word "Stolen," just so there could be no mistake. Then I went into the mall and asked a cop to take my picture:
The completed ensemble.
I looked like a thug, but I was only getting warmed up.