Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

Like the child in the candy shop, my eyes remained wide open as the computer “technician” led me by my metaphorical hand on a tour of the inner workings of my hacked computer. Never, never in a million years did it occur to me that I was being had. I can’t emphasize this enough. Desperation was the motivation for my gambol through the world of telephones, overseas-sounding operatives and most importantly, patience. Listening to the sound track of most on-hold venues to which I have been subjected, is generally enough to do the trick.

Exit, stage left.

What then? With Suzy Puente firmly in the grip of the hack-meister, and my identity apparently at stake, what other choice do I have? We’re talking about my I.D. being compromised. It’s not as though I didn’t recently lose my wallet, containing my driver’s license, VA card, credit cards and three hundred bones.  

Of course, there was a different choice, one that occurred to me the instant my hour-and-fifteen-minute phone conversation ended, but for the time being, I was gripping my seat and hanging on for dear life, on a white-water rafting trip not of my making. To add insult to injury, had Gluten-Free Mama been here, she would have sounded the alarm. 

“Don’t you remember?” she asked, when I caught up with her later.

“Not much,” I returned.

“Oh, come on,” she went on. “That time we had to go up to Eureka and go to Kiah’s dad’s shop so he could fix my computer?”

Oh, that time. It was a carbon-copy so to speak, and I did remember the trip to Eureka. I just hadn't remembered the fine print, so “Mark” had me by the-no, not those-just my metaphorical hand. 

I feel like I’m on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disneyland, with all of the sites we are flitting by. This guy knows his shit.

“Do you see that many of these sites are marked ‘sleeping?’” Mark asked me.

That awkward moment. wtf? All I see is a screen with a thousand lines of computer script, a virtual maze of symbols, words and columns. None of it computed, if you will excuse the pun. Hold the phone! I do see a column with “sleeping” duly noted. He’s right. 

Excitedly I burst out, “Yes, I see them! What does that mean?” There is something comical about knowing nothing, and asking questions to which the answers would also be meaningless. 

“Great question,” Mark assured me. “These are security components of your computer system that have been compromised. In each of these instances, problems could develop, which they obviously did. “Do you see that Chicago has come up several times here?” 

Sure enough, his cursor was jumping from point to point, spotlighting the Windy City. “Now, I doubt you have friends in Chicago, so this could be the source of your problem.”

“Whoa, Dude. I do have friends in Chicago, relating to my appearing on a radio show for a couple of years. I have been talking to Daniel regularly.”

Mark stumbled, verbally. “What? You do? Oh, well, that explains that,” he went on flawlessly.

What? Can you share? What, exactly, explains what?

The screen was jumping around like a farm frog, but it suddenly paused, once again presenting a sea of uncertainty for my grasping eyes. 

Triumphantly Mark exclaimed, “There. I am seeing international compromises too. It’s possible because you visited ad-ver-tease-ments.” 

Advertisements? The old hippie who despises commercials, ads or any form of attempt to inflict Corporate ‘Merica upon him, is clicking on ads on the internet?

“No way, Holmes,” I said flatly.

Again, Mark seemed to stagger verbally. “Well, Sir, what sites do you visit most frequently?”

“How about sfgiants.com?” I asked.

The screen blinked and there we were. I have to say, his internet speed was ten times mine. 

“Any of these ad-ver-tease-ments could cause issues with your security system,” he went on.

“They probably could,” I went on, “if I ever clicked on them.”

I’m starting to get more confused than usual here.

“Not a problem, not a problem. It’s impossible to know how the hacker gained access,” Mark continued smoothly.

Stupid me contributed this, “Well, I think I might know. I accepted a friend request on face/book from someone who had been hacked.”

Mark pounced on that piece of information, declaring, “Ah ha! You should not have done that!”

No shit, Sherlock. 

“That’s how hackers steal your identity,” Mark concluded.

In frustration I asked, “Can you fix it? Can you get rid of this hacker?”

“Not a problem, not a problem, but it’s going to cost.”

“Well, I understand that. I know this stuff costs. How much are we talking?” 

Come on, how bad can the damage be? Worst case, a couple of hun?

The computer screen did another tilt-a-whirl, slowed to a stop and Mark asked, “Do you see it?”

“What?”

“The cursor,” he responded, and then I did see it.

Blinking benignly, as if not a part of this farce, the cursor was placed in front of the figure, $695.00.

$695.00?!? Fuck me running. One-third the cost of Suzy Puente. Do I really have a choice?

Next: Who is being conned?