Many years ago I was in love with a woman who took a “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach to paying her bills. The mail would be delivered, and she’d take her student loan envelopes and put them, unopened, in the kitchen drawer. This way she didn’t have to see them piling up on the counter, and could pretend they didn’t exist. No bills, no stress. But obviously she was simply delaying the inevitable.
When she moved to Florida we needed to try to fix this, but she couldn’t bring herself to even address the issue. We would talk about her calling to make arrangements with the creditors, but it would end in tears. So I decided to see what I could do. While she was out shopping I put on my most pleasant demeanor, called the loan company, and asked for a supervisor right off the bat.
I politely explained that I was inquiring about this woman’s past due loan, and wanted to see how we could straighten things out. I had her name, her social security number, a copy of the statement, and an account number. No, I didn’t have her past address. No, I didn’t know her mother’s maiden name. Yes, I knew what state she used to live in, but told them she had recently moved here. No, we were not married, but we planning to do so. (That was a lie; it had never been discussed.) All I wanted was for them to reverse all late payment fees, remove all the interest to date, and let me set up a payment plan.
They did it. I changed her address to mine, got several thousand dollars of interest and penalties removed, set up a new PIN for her account, and did it all without even giving them my name. When my girlfriend got home and I told her what I’d done, she was both relieved at the solution, and terrified at the ease with which it all took place.
(For what it is worth, we paid off that loan just a couple of years later.)
That, my friends, is a basic example of social engineering from twenty-five years ago. I doubt I could get away with it now, given the increased scrutiny of account information and slow-dawning awareness of identity theft. Unfortunately, the switch to a digital life has happened too quickly for many people to keep up.
As an example, most people know — or think they know — that they should have an e-mail address. Sadly, they don’t necessarily know why, or what to do with it, or how to get one. And some people, to my chagrin, don’t bother to write it down once they do get one, choosing instead to just guess when they need to fill out a form.
Being an early adopter with Gmail, I got a six-letter name: mkhall. Apparently many, many other people think they have that same address, such as a certain Marcia Hall of Ohio. Marcia is going through some financial difficulty, it seems, and filled out a scammer’s “Get money now!” form using my e-mail address. Consequently I am now getting over a hundred messages per day from (ahem) “financial support groups” who just want to help ol’ Marcia out. Fortunately, Gmail catches most of them and tosses them straight into the spam bin, but a few get through. Incidentally, Marcia has a Facebook page, so I sent her a message asking her if she realized she was using my address. She never responded.
Then there’s Mark and Pamela, who gave their school the wrong e-mail address, resulting in their child’s psychiatric evaluations and report cards coming to me, as well as PTA-related stuff, medical reports, and similar items I’m sure they’d rather not have an absolute strange knowing about their son. I know a lot about Michael, too, who joined a Mormon singles group in Indiana. There’s a pilot in New Zealand who keeps signing up for forums and mailing lists using my address. (Maybe it’s supposed to be gmail.co.nz or something.) There is also a couple in the Midwest that are doing their damnedest to give me full access to their financial identity by signing up for credit cards and Redbox accounts giving out my e-mail address. There’s nothing like using the “forgot my password” link to get access to someone’s account information including home address, phone number, account number, et cetera.
I’ve done my best to contact the appropriate parties when these mistakes have been made. I managed to reach one fellow by phone a while back, and told him of the mistake. He admitted he didn’t know anything about the Internet, and that his brother in Colorado set up the e-mail address for him, along with an automatic login on his new computer that takes him right to his e-mail. The other people, though, are seemingly oblivious to the problem, not even noticing that they aren’t receiving their e-mail.
I’m not unsympathetic to their plight. In short order the Internet has gone from a playground for geeks to a utility more necessary than cable, and as important as a telephone. For many people this is as frightening as if they got up this morning and were expected to do their jobs speaking only Esperanto. It’s a matter of cultural assimilation, and some people just adapt more easily than others. You may prefer the old country, and long for the simpler days of your analog life, but that’s no longer an option. If you want to live in the modern world, you need learn the language and assimilate.
Where some people will see your hesitancy and fear and try to help you find your way, others will see another recent immigrant fumbling along, and an illicit opportunity to be seized.
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