Sorry for the inconvenience, old shipmate

The randomness of credit card security measures has always mystified me. I show my driver's license when I charge a four-dollar quart of ice cream in a convenience store; then I drive across the street, swipe my card at the gas pump and put twenty bucks-worth of gas into my tank without cross-examination.

In 1986, I decided to start testing these security measures by signing fictitious names on credit card receipts. For a few years I signed as "Francis Malarkey," "Feodor Mussorgsky" and "Festus Muldoon." Not once did my roster of vaguely Frank Mullen-like signatures attract  a second glance from a cashier, waitress or salesman.

In the early '90s I decided to stop the shenanigans. I did away with all those aliases and began signing all credit card slips with one name: Fred Muzer.

Fred was a shipmate with whom I served in the 1970s at Navy Bands in San Francisco and Newport. We were friends and housemates, and the fact we were both "F.M"s confused a lot of people we met, but, believe me, it hasn't shaken anybody in the credit card industry.

I've been signing Fred's name since about 1992. Fred, old pal, if you're getting billed for mysterious purchases of unleaded gas, sour cream at Amtrak tickets to Denver, don't panic; you're playing a vital part in my efforts to test the nation's economic security.