Where everybody knows your name?

It used to be that security meant having a dead bolt lock on the front door. Not anymore. Today, nobody can conduct business at a courthouse, a state or federal office, a museum or board an aircraft without being screened by armed security officers. Even churches now conduct a criminal background check of their volunteer members before allowing them to serve in certain ministries.

In light of the horror stories of security breaches in many corporation, I have taken extraordinary precautions to protect my identity. Working from the premise that reducing opportunities for strangers to handle my personal documents reduces opportunities for identity theft, I made three simple but far-reaching lifestyle changes: first, I rented a post office box and re-directed all my mail to that address. The rental cost is minimal and a simple reorganization of my schedule allows me to collect my mail once a day; second, I switched to paperless billing.  I was probably the last holdout, but I am now convinced that businesses are implementing the newest technologies to protect their records; third, I no longer contract with a curbside garbage collection company. Instead, husband takes our trash to the township dump for secure, monitored disposal. And we shred important, traceable documents.

The changes have worked well – too well I discovered when I attempted to renew my driver’s license. I found that while I can still prove who I am, I can no longer prove where I live. The measures I took to prevent identity theft now work against me.  

            I handed the DMV receptionist my picture ID along with my expiring driver’s license. She asked for additional government-issued identification; I had nothing more. She suggested I return with my passport. Three days later I handed over my expiring driver’s license, picture ID, completed paperwork and (reluctantly) my passport. So it was with great surprise that I heard her say that she needed still more identification, something that confirmed my street address, not the post office box. Rummaging through the vast wasteland that is my handbag, I pulled out one slightly tattered checkbook, a pay statement, two letter envelopes, a business card, a graduation invitation, all of which bore my name and my post office box address. She suggested I bring in my car insurance certificate. Aha!

            I trudged back to the parking lot. From the glove compartment I retrieved the plastic sleeve containing important car stuff. I handed it over, but not before noticing that the top document in the packet was a motor vehicle registration card with my street address. Back in the office, the woman set aside the top item and went for the insurance certificate which bore (you guessed it) my post office box. With some consternation I asked why she discarded the vehicle registration card.

            “It’s issued by the DMV,” she said, (and this part really confused me,) “and we can’t use our own documents as verification.” 

            By that time I was fuming. “What about a bill? she asked.

            “I pay them online,” I said.

            “Electric bill?”

            “It’s in my husband’s name. How about a magazine subscription?”

            “That’s not first class mail,” she replied.

            “I guess I’ll have to get a notarized letter from the President” I said, tongue in cheek. (Of the company where I worked, not the President President. I was getting desperate.)

            “Wouldn't do you any good, but we’ll take your income tax return."

            “Heck, no,” I said.  (After all, a tax return is private information and definitely not government issue.) 

            She shrugged and returned my documents. The testaments to my existence were no good at the DMV. I bid her a steely “good evening.” (I know “steely”. I’d perfected that look when my kids were teenagers.)

           

How do I insulate myself against identity theft without robbing myself of an identity? Can I no longer prove who I am or where I live without resorting to trickery? Does my good name mean nothing? Is my community standing without value? 

           

Back at home, I rummaged through the day’s mail. Every label was addressed to my post office box. So I did what I should have done in the first place. I wrote myself a letter and mailed it to my street address. It arrived in the mail today. Tomorrow I shall take it to the DMV and, hopefully, qualify for a driver’s license.

            Now if I can just remember to shred that envelope…

Max