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Do you have a case number or anything along those lines? You could always ask the cops whether they have any objection to you yelling at Amazon.

Pretty much no matter how you spin it, there's no way that you, personally, are at any risk of being charged with any crimes.

NO, not that simple. There is some risk of being charged, and it goes a bit deeper than what's stated here. I have been told not to call Amazon and raise hell about this.

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You bought a phone from Amazon that turned out to be bogus. Amazon has your money. The police have your phone. Amazon owes you a phone. Simple as that.

You must have the laziest lawyer in the US. They'll be getting a bill for the defense attorney, and yeah, I feel that's necessary. Only spoke to the cops for about 15 minutes that night, and I wasn't about to let them search my house, let them touch any of the guns in the house without a warrant, or speak to me anymore without a lawyer. On the surface alone, I do stand a chance, albeit probably small, on the phone alone, of being charged with possession of stolen property.

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As such, I'll wager that Amazon.com did nothing wrong, and that the error resides entirely with your local police force and/or your cel phone service provider. Amazon may then rightly insist that they've done nothing wrong

Too many things match for it to be error, and I've got a name that's pretty hard to come up with by misspelling.

But since you ordered from a national online merchant like Amazon, how can they possibly hassle you about it?

Stolen phone in my possession, no serial number on the receipt, my problem.

Agreed. Sorry to hijack your thread, Heather. Any word?

This is probably going to drag on forever, and I've just had a shitty week to go nicely with the already lousy month I've had. Let's review the past week:

Last monday - laptop commits suicide. Of course, the only important things on it are the things not backed up, like, I dunno, the contents of my cellphone. Good thing I still keep multiple handwritten copies.

Wednesday night - police show up for the first time at my door. Lose phone get pissed. Go to tattoo shop and get test piece of glowing tattoo, and mildly amuse myself by watch friend compete with himself in some bizarre worlds worst jew competition by getting tattooed on yom kippur, then finished the event with some sort of shrimp and bacon snack. But before that, I follow him back to his place to drop off his car. Apparently his car doesn't like to steer or brake after driving through a puddle, and many poor, innocent garbage cans lost their lives that night.

Friday - police show up at business I'm buying a piece of on Monday. I'm not there yet. Fortunately, these are people who have known me for years. They're waiting for the funny in yet another Heather + cops tale. Disappointment at the lack of funny in the situation ensues. Mind you, this looks fabulous in front of customers.

Sunday - crap work by road construction crew leads to ripped open transmission pan and messed up drive axle on one of my cars. Good thing I already had an appointment for Monday anyway.

Monday - get up at 6am and throw on first thing I find on the floor to go drop car off before 7am. Should leave me plenty of time to grab a rental car, drive back to the bronx, shower and get dressed, and go sign some paperwork so I officially own part of the place. WRONG!

It take an hour and a half to get there. All three routes my section of the bronx into queens are FUBAR. Worse than they would be during the worst of it at 8:15. Normally, this is a 15-20 minute drive, 40 with bad traffic. Whatever, not too bad.

Drop off car, photograph damage under car, get tranny fluid dripped all over me. No biggie, I can still make it, only a little late. Enterprise shows up, gives me the keys to the cadillac, and I go. I got a big three blocks when I realize the car is squealing like a pig. Turn around, bring it back.

They give me a Mustang. Only another 5 minutes, no biggie. So pull out with mustang, get to end of block, tire blows. Looked like someone shot out a piece of it from the inside. Behind me, I can see the last car they had rolling out. Now we've got a problem.

Next, I get to take a ride with a very, very smelly guy, in the squealing cadillac, to another enterprise lot. Smelly guy must hate rolled down windows, and keeps rolling mine up. I try my best not to gag, only slipping a few times in the 20 minute ride. Get to next enterprise lot, the only thing they've got is a not a squeaky as the cadillac, beat ass neon, but I'm already quite late so I take it.

Think the day is moving along, then park said shitty neon on the whitestone bridge long enough to celebrate my next birthday there. Finally clear the bridge. At this point I'm already over three hours late, so I go, as is, to go hand over the check (which thank god I decided I really needed to have on my person that morning, although I couldn't understand why), in wrinkled clothes off the floor, complete with cat fur, tranny fluid, and at this point, pizza sauce on them, hair that hasn't exactly been brushed, and oil stains on my hands, to go meet all the lawyers and bank people, because I'm sure this inspired nothing but the utmost confidence in them that they made the right decisions in signing over all that money to my partners 5 months ago.

In hindsight, I'm kinda disappointed in myself for trying to hang onto that last thread of my dignity and didn't just go for comedy and add a beer in a brown paper bag and a cigarette dangling off my lip to complete the look. Finish off paperwork, really quickly, unable to sit in the chair properly because my muscles are all so screwed up from tension. All the bank people and lawyers leave, both my partners just stare at me for a minute or two, with some sort of confused pity look. I get told I look "Like a plate of hot buttered shit" by a man who in 5 years I've never heard say something so outright insulting. It must look worse than I think. Recount week in review. Get told not to feel guilty if I feel like taking the rest of the week off. They up that into strongly suggesting I take a few days off, Joe will get his brother in to fill in for me for a few days. I know better than to decline the offer, especially since I now have to deal with contractors insurance agency, which will probably not go smoothly.

Give up, go home To wait for the "Community Construction Liaison" (NYC gov't term for person not smart enough to work at movie concession stand), and I look in the mirror. Yikes.

I finally take a shower, still don't feel any better. Enterprise shows up with a nice, fully functional infiniti (which I no longer need, but whatever). Call american express, have them book me a trip to vegas, as I really don't think I should stick around. Goes well. Call up attractive gentleman and invite him. He's not sure he could get out of work.

At 5:30, city assweasel still hasn't shown. Leave note on door directing him to dad two doors down should he feel like doing his job. Get in rental car (because I was feeling so lucky I figured I'd take the car that's not going to be my problem to fix), drive to CT, con gentleman's awesome boss into giving him end of the week off. God bless this revolving door industry where everyone seems to know everyone else. He too decides I look like crap and tells me so. Tell the week in review story. Decide it'd be pretty funny if it wasn't me it was happening to. Call amex and change flights to wednesday morning.

So now I'm sitting here again waiting for assweasel. Let him a message to show by 4 or I'll sic my insurance company on the city and the contractor, making his job harder. Let's see how this one works out.

So now I'm fully expecting the police to show up as I'm leaving the house tomorrow morning. Hopefully that doesn't happen. Maybe I'll get extra lucky and skip the usual parade of psychos that can usually be found on flights to vegas.

If you've made it this far, congratulations. Thanks for the vent.

Edited because even with a spell checker, I can't spell. Yay publik skoolz!

Wow, what a week! I certainly hope you enjoy your time off in Vegas. Relax, have fun, and don't think about work!

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Relax, have fun, and don't think about work!

Work isn't the problem. My current job is like a daycamp for 30somethings compared to all the other jobs I've had. It's the damn personal life that's the problem.

damn Heather. reading that actually made me feel better about my life. and for that, I owe ya one.

hang in there, don't go postal or anything, no matter how justifiable.

Wow, Heather, you need a Purple Heart medal.

Loved the "world's worst jew competition" comment. Mmm, bacon.

Several Jewish friends and I used to do what we called our "Korean seder", where we'd go for a nice Korean dinner and try to figure out the symbolic (Passover or otherwise) meaning in all the strange pickled dishes they bring out before your main course.

damn Heather. reading that actually made me feel better about my life. and for that, I owe ya one.

hang in there, don't go postal or anything, no matter how justifiable.

So long as I don't get stuck on the plane with someone completely touched in the head like the lady seated next to me and said bad jew friend on our last return flight who decided that when we reached cruising altitude was the perfect time to whip out her tits and milk herself, I should be fine. Like a good friend, I just put on my headphones and watched a movie while he quietly sobbed. Hey, if I didn't pay attention to it, the crazy isn't really there.

Wow, Heather, you need a Purple Heart medal.

No, it's just the trade off for all the good stuff in life that I get. I need a certain amount of insanity in my life to be happy. I may well be subconsciously bringing it all on myself. But that doesn't mean I won't go intoscreaming fits about it and wish death or people on the morons who cause it, or the good I could do for society if only I was given a dart gun full of depo provera and a license to use it. Besides, if I had a nice quiet uneventful life, I'd probably kill myself.

Several Jewish friends and I used to do what we called our "Korean seder", where we'd go for a nice Korean dinner and try to figure out the symbolic (Passover or otherwise) meaning in all the strange pickled dishes they bring out before your main course.

Same dude, at the age of thirteen, decided it would be fun to terrorize his little sister's gentile friend who wanted to come to passover out of curiosity by scaring the crap out of her about opening the door for Elijah. I really wish I remembered exactly what he did, but I couldn't stop laughing the whole time about his threats of "Elijah's gonna get ya!" But he's also developed a recent fascination with Catholicism. "Not because I believe it, but the pageantry is impressive."

the question is, how bad did it hurt..