Yes, Hugo has continued to be a grey cloud in an otherwise sunny sky for my life. The conclusion I’ve been given by governmental officials, credit bureaus, and the identity theft insurance I have purchased is this: watch your back.
The man has existed using my social security for credit, work, etc. longer than I have, so the bureaus refuse to disassociate my number with his name. “Don’t worry,” they assure me, “his information won’t show up on your report.” This is fabulous news if you like to walk around with skeletons in your closet. What this means for me is, the both of are coexisting under the same number- for taxes (if he even pays them), for employment (this is a fun thing to chat about before you get a job offer!), and for credit…oh yes, and for crime under the LA County line of offenses he’s racked up. This means I never know when or where the little devil will show up! I’ve washed my hands of everything I can and am trying to forget about it, because worrying about any and all future transactions does me know good. It’s liberating in a way.
But yesterday, in a gleeful charming shopping experience I had at the local Nordstrom, I decided to finally cave and be rewarded for my vice, aka get a Nordstrom Mod Card. A Mod Card is not a credit card, but rather a debit card, linked directly with your bank, that gives you the same kinds of rewards points a credit card will. The salesperson was more than eager to sign me up (she gets a reward herself from this process), assuring me that “this is a great deal” and “it’s very wise to sign up for this if you spend money here.” Her sales pitch was a little late because I flat out asked for the card, but I let her gloat in her added incentives just a little longer. A line began to form as she placed the call to the cards HQ. I fleshed out my information quickly. Her Russian accent hit a halt with the other person on the line, and I watched her look down, jot down a number, and then asked “what should I tell her?”
Denied! The line of people behind me began to encroach nearer. I unfurled the mess about Hugo, but it seemed like a crazy lie I had pocket-ready for years. She shamefully put the paperwork away and bagged my debited purchases. I was sweating.
How, how has this man ruined everything? As an American who has never been in debt (not a single time), how can I have trouble with a bank account, a debit card? My credit alone is shot to a blitz because of the amount of checks run on it for evidence of Hugo. And yes, I did turn him in to immigration, though they don’t have protocol for catching these people unless he happily decides to re-cross the border (likely, I’m sure…)