It’s like a spy novel out there in the ether. Intrigue, passwords, skulduggery. This Siberworld is some kind of den of iniquity in the classic sense. Bad guys doing bad things. It is surprising. I had no idea that the web went evil so fast, so far, so deep. It is like Marine Dealerships Mark 2.0 – the virtual sea .
Because of my recent home-invasion of the virtual kind, I have been looking deeper into this than ever before. To get to my site host, I had to phone a 1-800 number (so I looked that up before doing it). Nice site. Looked bona fide. They gave me the choice of a live-chat and I took that instead of calling. “Good evening, I am Badabudingsinghaddoooo andhowcanIhelpyoutoday? What is your account ID?”
“I dunno. Could it be Dave123? Am I Dave123 or am I coastal hermit? I can never remember when I go coastal. Unh, by the way….you said good evening and then asked about helping me today…………..what time is it there? And where is there?”
“I am sorry, sir. No time to chat. Calls waiting. I need your weird, secret account number..well only the last four digits…….or, I suppose, I can use your last four digits of your credit card…….do you have that?”
“Yeah, just a sec………..” I mention to Sal that some guy with a 1-800 number and a heavy accent wants the last four digits of my credit card number and she goes hysterical…..“Oh my God! Don’t be a fool! They’ll rob us blind! We’ll have our identities stolen! Don’t do it! Don’t do it!”
And then she just screams and runs for the closet, “Why me?! Why me?”
“Sal, relax. Four digits isn’t enough for anything. Nanu doesn’t even know what card I have. He’s just looking for a unique number for identification is all.”
“Do you know that for sure? Do you know how these crooks work? Do you? Well, DO YOU, PUNK!?”
“Sheesh. Good Dirty Harry impression. Now just put the gun down, sweetie. We can work this out……and, unh………….I called him. He didn’t call me.”
She cocked the hammer back and her eyes narrowed. The colour from her normally rosy cheeks chameleoned to grey-green. Shadows formed on her face. Trigger finger looked tight. “OK, OK! Whatever. No numbers. I swear. Maybe just one. I’ll see if ‘8’ works. Howzat?” She relaxed her finger but not her eyes. Colouring remained shades of Bogart.
I return to the phone.
“Unh, I appreciate your help Nehru, or was that Sidhu? Anyway, my wife won’t let me talk to you anymore. She’s freaked. Women, eh? So, will one of the numbers do? I’ll give you an 8. How about an 8 and my mother’s maiden name? And don’t you always want my postal code? I’ll give that up, too, no problem. I mean, c’mon…………..who else but the real me would know 8 and the postal code and my mother’s family name? That do it for you, Badu?”
“Sorry, sir. Company policy. Can’t help you………………………………………but, umh……………I have this cousin, right? And, like he’s got twenty million dollars in a suitcase that we need deposited in a first world country…….you seem like a nice guy…………don’t tell your wife, eh? She’ll just worry………………now if you just send me………”