My shredder died, like 6 months ago.  We had a small but moving ceremony, attended by myself, the stapler and the three-hole-punch, with a moving eulogy given by my printer.  After the customary mourning period, we’ve all now moved on with our lives.  Since then, I’ve built up a ginormous pile of unshredded paper, and this week I finally got off my rear and got a replacement.  Thank you, Easy Button: 8 sheet cross-cutter, with a little window to see how full the bucket is.  All for just $35, which meets my notoriously frugal (read: “cheapskate”) budget.

Now I’ve began the trip down memory lane, looking at the things that seemed shreddable to me at the time.  In true Jovain form, it seems I’ve decided to shred absolutely anything with my name associated with it.  Maybe that’s overkill, but it is what it is – better safe than sorry, I guess.  Then I came across something that caught my eye.  No, it wasn’t pictures from Defcon 16.  Nor was it any of the various restraining orders received during that time (those get framed!).  Something much more insidious…

First some backstory – it may come as a surprise to you, but yes, I’ve got a credit card.  And yes, it’s even issued in my own name (or rather, my alter ego).  At one point, I’d thought it was a good idea to take off the tinfoil hat and succumb to The Man and throw myself on the mercy of The System simply to be able to function in today’s plastic based society.  *sigh* – all because a guy can’t live underground forever if he wants access to premium online porn.  But back to the point at hand…

My credit card periodically sends out “checks” for use in paying off other credit card balances (like a balance transfer).  It kind of sucks that they’re checks that can just be written to anybody, and they’re sent to my house without me asking for it or expecting it in the mail.  But it only references the last four digits of my account number, so I guess it’s the same as a receipt from starbucks (not capitalized on purpose in an effort to extract some kind of vengance on them for making me pay $2.50 for a black freakin’ coffee anywhere I go now).

(no, i really, really don’t have ANY photoshop skillz).

But on closer inspection…

On the bottom of the check, next to the routing number, where the checking account number goes is 10 digits: not just any digits, but the last 10 digits of my credit card number.   Hmmm…  Six digits left – a potential one million possibilities.  But it’s got to be easier than that.  Our pal Google (aka “Wikipedia Index”), says those are the issuer identification number.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bank_card_number.

So where would you find a bank’s IIN?  Back to Google: there are loads of Bank Identification Number (previous term for IIN) sites.  bindatabase.net is pretty well known, cited in wikipedia, and us reputed to have the most entries.  However, it doesn’t allow lookups starting with the bank.  More Google gives http://bindb.cc.  Neat.  I can lookup the IIN with Country, Bank name, and Card type:

Country?  Yeah, that’s in the letterhead.  US.

Bank?  Yep, that’s the bank that sent the letter, also in the letterhead.

Card Type (three fields!)?  Well, that takes some thought.  A quick glance at the bank’s website shows it offers Visa.  Let’s go with that.  And it’s a Credit card, since the letter was for a balance transfer.  And now it wants the “flavor” (my term) of the card.  In the letter it says Platinum, so I’ll use that.

Security Code:  Simple captcha so I don’t harvest their db.  Fine.

Click “search”, and, well, I’ll be dipped – there’s the rest of my credit card number.  Well, I called my bank and asked WTF is up with this – they said it’s a security feature.  Good job, bank.  Please remove me from your identity theft victim pile, please, and stop sending me unrequested copies of my banking data.  No bananas - their business office doesn’t allow this – you can only opt out of receiving your requested documents.

So I guess for the rest of the day, I’ll be making a new tinfoil hat and continuing on through my gimungo pile of shreddables.  Thanks a lot, bank.