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- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Archives Revels Classifieds Real Estate Guide Weather Subscribe Contact Us March 24, 2005 Downtown Stealing identities easier than keeping one Andrew Scot Bolsinger I lost myself officially this week. Apparently, there is little hope in getting me back. (Pause ... wait for the applause to die down ... pause ...) As of this moment, I have no way of proving who I am. Without a driver's license, I can't fly. If I can't fly, I can't leave on my scheduled departure to Boston. If I don't leave, I will not be able to use my ticket to the Red Sox's home opener against the Evil Empire. My normal "why worry" approach to life is invaded by this foreign, intrusive new partner. Anxiety. Unfortunately, proving who I am is harder than it looks. Certainly much harder than those who steal identities so quickly and easily. It starts with me First disclaimer: You have to be a complete ninny to lose your identity. Hi, I am Andrew Scot Bolsinger, a complete ninny. This ninny's story started about 22 years ago when I first applied for a real live job. I obtained my social security card and promptly lost it. I never bothered to apply for another one. If I knew at the time how important it was to keep that card around, I don't recall it. What I do recall is that I don't think it would have mattered either way. Every job I have taken, I was asked to provide a copy of my Social Security card. An acceptable option has been my passport, which I obtained at about the same time I got SS card. Somehow, I didn't lose the passport. It's the only piece of legitimate identification I have left. But, the last time I used it was in 1984 to wrestle in China against their Olympic team. The passport expired in 1986. Though I am well-traveled in the United States, I haven't left the country since. So while my passport faithfully documents my birthdate and identity, the face smiling back looks more like my son than me. My driver's license is another story. I had a perfectly good one in Oregon. Still remember the number: 4624542. But then I moved to Virginia and did the obedient thing and switched my license to my new state. I still remember that one because they still used Social Security numbers as driver's license numbers - a practice in the age of identity theft I would suspect they don't do any longer. Later, when I moved to Ashland, I wasn't quite so obedient. As it was my last link to this wonderful era of my life spent in the Commonwealth of Virginia, I had been reluctant to replace it with a more accurate, Oregon version. Procrastination set in. Finally, at the prompting of my daughter, we made an appointment to take the test and get proper Oregon licenses. She had no problem, but the DMV workers wouldn't let me take the test. Welcome to the DMV Apparently, a driver's license is not enough of an ID to get another one. The lady at the counter asked for a social security card (see above). I tried to show them my passport (long expired). I told them I had an Oregon driver's license previously, but it had expired just a few months before. Again, No dice. I was frustrated, the DMV worker was annoyed. She handed me a list of acceptable IDs (primary, secondary and supportive, each apparently worth varying amounts of cache toward the goal of ultimate proof) and I left. Without my daughter's prompting, it quickly slipped my mind - that is until I tried to use my Virginia driver's license recently only to find it missing. No idea where it went, but it was gone. Suddenly the stakes were considerably higher. I scoured my home office in search of a renegade birth certificate after scouring my car, wallet etc., for the missing license, all to no avail. I grabbed the passport, a marriage license, several bills with my name on them and an assortment of other things that would attest to who I am. I returned to the DMV, full of anxiety but prepared to figure something out. Common sense would prevail right? The mountain of documentation would be enough? I pulled my little number out upon arrival: No. 40 it read. The place looked a little full, so I knew some wait was ahead. I glanced at the electronic sign on the wall and my heart sank: "Now serving number 08," it said. 90 minutes I settled in. For the next 90 minutes one relatively grumpy (in fairness, maybe stern is a better descriptor) DMV worker replaced a second one. The entire time I was there only one person worked behind the counter, watched by a full house of waiting people. It was like a bad one-person play with no intermission. Finally, I was called after a run through the 30s discovered many had snuck out the back of this playhouse. Explaining my plight, the worker said she would look to see if my photo ID from my expired Oregon driver's license was on the computer system. "We started putting those on the computer in 1997," she said. You guessed it... "The last time you had your licensed renewed was 1996," she said. Hmmn. I looked at her, seeking a solution. She looked back at me, seeking a conclusion. Our divergent goals would continue to prove to be a stumbling block. "You have to show your birthday with your photo," she tried to explain. I pointed out that my passport did both, while pointing out my many other sundry forms of idea. "Yes, but it's expired," she said. "Maybe the Social Security office will accept your photo on your bankcard, but I can't speak for them." Then she did it. She shrugged. It was the shrug that lit the fuse. The complete indifference in the face of a seemingly insurmountable problem. The shrug said it all: Don't ask me to think about this. Don't ask me to use common sense. Don't ask me to find solutions. You need ID that you don't have. Tough luck. Knowing my fuse was lit, I spoke very carefully, explaining that I had waited 90 minutes and I at least wanted to leave with a plan for what I could do for the next time. Her irritation was obvious as she handed me the same sheet with all the levels of IDs that had been handed to me before. This photocopied book out of some manual, written by some bureaucrat somewhere in the aftermath of 9-11 was the Bible it seemed. No interpretation allowed. Maturity is a sign of knowing the basic rules of childhood. I didn't have anything nice to say, so I didn't say anything at all. I left, my identity completely erased for the time being. In the age of stolen identities it seems it's easier to prove you are someone else than prove you are yourself. What a strange world of lists and regulations, lacking in humans being humans, we live in. My best hope now is that a criminal is out there stealing my identity. Unlike me, they seem to have no problem getting past the ladies at the DMV. DailyTidings.com Home Page Archives | Revels | Classifieds | Real Estate Guide | Weather | Subscribe | Contact Us Copyright 2005 Ashland Daily Tidings and Ottaway Newspapers All Rights Reserved Slippers Women's & Men's Slippers Ceramic Piggy Banks heloc libor rate Calenders 2005 Calender 2005 Accelerate Weightloss Products Memory Foam Mattress afsa studentloans home equity loans teleconferencing W2 Forms fasa student loans Matchmaking & Dating Scripts African Safari Conference Calls - $50/Month Security Systems student loan consolidation wholesale diamonds Currancy Exchange Online Casinos Community Fasa Student Loans Click Here Site Search: .:Advertisements:. RESOURCES - Mail Tribune News - ODOT Road Cams