< rant >
This is an open letter to the attractive, young girl sitting next to me on the Orange Line this morning. You're the one who called the customer service desk for a new card. (Two, actually.) You helpfully gave the nice lady all the information she needed to process your request. Yes, that's you.
I now have your date of birth (early January 1991) and your Social Security number (I really wasn't taking notes). With a hi-jacked Merchant ID I could now have access to your complete credit report, including account numbers and payment amounts. I could also have your home address and your phone number(s). I know the station where you boarded, and I know which station you exited.
Since I wish you nothing but a long and happy life, I sincerely hope this creeps you out. The next guy may be taking notes. His wishes may be different.
I just don't get it. Were we all really that clueless at 19?