Fresh from claiming that today was going to be different, I spent most of it in front of TV and ordered a McDonald’s delivery. I am hanging my head in shame as I type.
Well, not quite. Twenty four hours ago I was hanging my head as I typed. Now I am just typing, having slept in my chair, woken up and decided to go to bed.
This afternoon I had a text from the people who run the “app” that checks ID on the phone. I use quotes round the word app (if it deserves to be called a word) to show my disdain for the modern world.
In days past we “discovered” far off lands (much to the surprise of the people who were already there) using a compass and a sextant. We learnt how to fly and to dive to the bottom of the sea using spanners and a lack of fear. We even got to the moon with less computing power than the average teen uses in their mobile phone. But apparently we can’t catch a bus, order takeaway food or prove our identity without an app. And that, if you really want to know what I think, is what’s wrong with the world.
To sort out the ID problem I used email to ask the solicitor what was wrong with the ID details I have provided, and why they had allowed the people to contact me again after I instructed them to stop it.
While I was on email I noticed another email from the solicitors. This one tells me that I have ben spotted on a list of bankruptcies and they would lik to check it isn’t me. They are really trying hard to find fault, which, of course, they will do if they are being paid to do it. I don’t understand why they need to check this, as the money has already been paid. It clearly isn’t me. The man in question has two forenames and a double-barrelled, and lives several hundred miles away. But because we are both called Simon (a name that was in the top ten from 1955-75) and Wilson (the 7th or 9th most popular name in the country depending on who you believe) the solicitor obviously saw something else he could charge for.
It’s not too onerous to solve the problem, I just need to write a note and sign it – ‘The above entry does not relate to me, signed………..’
Well, if it’s that simple, how can you really call it a security check? A more cynical man might be tempted to suggest it was just a way to inflate the bill.
If someone asks me at work to find information on Thomas George Smith of Nottingham, they aren’t going to be impressed by my carefully researched life of Thomas Alfred Warren-Smith of Carlisle. And that is the extent of the match – a common first name and a common last name, three others that don’t match and two addresses 200 miles apart.
I am struggling not to be sarcastic.
It’s a good thing I’m old enough to remember jammed coin slots. Can you imagine our kids understanding that analogy?
This sort of thing sucks any vitality that you might have right our of your life. I can only compare it with the annoyance of finding that the coin slot in the telephone box was jammed so you could not telephone home to get a lift from the station, and the pubs were all shut by that time too.
Please, I beg you, give in to sarcasm whenever you wish.
It’s building up . . .
I am sorry the problem is still plaguing you, Simon. I often wish for a fairy godmother wand to fix things needing fixing, but I know I’ll never get my hands on one. 🙂
I bought a lottery ticket. A big win is about as likely as a fairy godmother . . .
Now we can’t vote without photo ID
Here in Oregon we vote by mail.
I only have to walk 200 yards. 🙂
It feels like we are going back in time with that.