I don’t know who would want to steal my identity, but it probably wouldn’t be too hard to do. Without losing a wallet or having credit cards stolen, someone could rifle through the recycle bin and retrieve information from my bank statements, unused deposit slips, credit card statements, even those offers for new credit cards that come in the mail almost daily. Of course, if the banks knew how little I used my existing card, they wouldn’t bother.
News reports warn that identity theft is on the rise, actually the most prevalent of nonviolent crimes. I even know someone who had this happen to her. She never had a wallet stolen or anything. Yet suddenly she got a credit card statement with tons of stuff on it she didn’t charge, statements from credit cards she didn’t even have, and her cell phone bill was over the top. She also was getting threatening letters from department stores and banks saying her balances were maxed out.
Someone had opened accounts in her name, using her address and other I.D. It was a mess. By the time she found out what was going on, the charges were accumulating interest and penalties. Since she hadn’t notified police and the banks that her cards were stolen, it seemed she had no recourse. Ultimately, it was sorted out, but in the meantime she couldn’t use any credit cards, or her checking account.
Anyway, because it’s tax time, and I’m sorting through records, bank statements and such, I’ve decided to be way more careful. I would do what the big execs do. I’d buy a shredder.
With a shredder, I could erase all those pesky documents with my numbers on them. I’ve been wearing blisters on my thumb cutting things up with my sewing shears. Stupid. With a shredder, I would be able to disappear those numbers with the push of a button. I would also, I thought, be able to feed the shreds to my compost box, which has been ailing for lack of heat and, as it turns out, paper.
Shopping for a shredder was no joy. Staples had something for about $100. Office Max had the same. I cheaped out and went to Wal*Mart.
Someone should have warned me. Shopping at Wal*Mart is not for the feint of heart. Not for those who hate crowds of people pushing baskets the size of a SUV, with screaming babies hanging over the edges pulling things off shelves.
How to find the office stuff? This store is the size of an airplane hangar. Finally finding the right aisle, I realize that I haven’t researched this purchase and my Consumer Reports Buyers Guide is at home. I know nothing about shredders. I don’t even know any former Enron execs.
Prices go from $16.95 for a bare bones model with no basket, to about $80, for a crosscut model that reduces your identity to confetti. I select a cheap one made by Fellowes, a company that made its mark in the shredding industry during the Nixon years. It will digest no more than five sheets of paper at a time, cutting them to ribbons about one-quarter inch wide. That’s all it says on the box.
When I read the Use and Care Manual (in English, French and Spanish), I discover all the things it will not shred and why it is priced so low.
“Do not attempt to shred paper clips or other hard materials. NEVER insert hands or fingers into paper entry (unless you are trying to expunge your finger prints). Maximum shredding time is 3-5 minutes (after which meltdown occurs). Do not shred plastic, continuous forms, adhesive labels, transparencies, newsprint or cardboard.” Does this mean I have to tear out the windows or stick-on address labels from envelopes? “Keep loose objects such as ties and long hair away from shredder.” You could disappear an unwanted Father’s Day gift or get a strangely layered haircut.
The list of DON’Ts is enough to send you back to the scissors. “Do not open the cover for any reason as this can expose you to dangerous voltages and will void your warranty.” It may also void your life or at least frizz out your newly layered hair.
Okay, okay. I carefully place the thing over a wastebasket (not over “a heat source or water”) and plug it into my surge suppresser. I insert an old bank statement (no more than five pages). Shrrrfft. Reduced to ribbons no more than two digits wide. Try to steal that. Credit card offers, investment statements. Shrrrfft. Shrrrfft. This is more fun than deleting stuff from the computer. Wait. Careful for the hair. Watch the clock. Whew! I’ve stopped just before meltdown. What a pro. I could’ve been an Enron auditor.