“The good news is that the person who stole your credit card is spending less than you were.”
— Probably the next message from my credit card company.
Nothing spoils a Sunday afternoon nap quicker than waking up to a text. Especially one like this. “Hi, it’s your credit card company. Did you just make this purchase with your card ending in 1234?
COMPANY: (I never heard of them.)
APPROVED: $350.47.
Text back ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to protect your account.”
Grasping for that kind of reality while simultaneously waking up from a nap was more mental dexterity than I am accustomed to demonstrating on Sunday afternoons.
Three hundred and fifty bucks? Was it the bread and milk I picked up at the grocery store yesterday? Wait, maybe that’s where I topped off the gas tank in my car the day before. Satisfied the charge was not mine, a quick ‘no’ reply to the credit card company text sent me to their website where answering a couple of questions canceled the charge and my card. Plus, a replacement card was promised.
At least this occurrence was quick and easy to fix. It was all over in less than 10 minutes, unlike the time a few years ago when my wallet was lost. While the internet was still a dream, a phone call to the credit card protection company brought results. Some unexpected.
“Was your wallet lost or stolen,” the service rep asked? “I don’t know,” I replied. “Temporarily unfindable is the best explanation I can offer.” She decided that declaring it stolen would be best should one of my cards were used for illegal activities.
And everything was fine. Until that night about a week later in a Shreveport department store. Actually, it started a few days before when I discovered a credit card in my desk drawer. I felt sure it was a new one not listed with the protection service.
Presenting my purchases for payment, I pushed the card across the counter and happily told the young man, “Charge it, please.” Again, these were preinternet days meaning he stamped the card on the receipt gizmo and placed the usual verification phone call. I gazed at the array of point-of-purchase items, wondering which ones I could not live without.
“Oh really,” I heard him say as he repeated the number again. “O.K. — sure,” he said, glancing up at me. Somewhere about the second “O.K.” I knew this was not going to end well. What I didn’t know was what the credit card service rep on the other end of the call was telling him.
Things like, “This is a stolen card. Do not show any emotion toward the customer. Do not act surprised. Put him on the phone, but do not under any circumstances let him have the card back.”
“Look ... ah, you see ...” I started to explain. Before I could finish, the clerk handed the phone in my direction and said, “They want to talk to you.” It was a toss-up as to which one of us was sweating more about this deal. As I began to talk, he was backing slowly away from the counter.
“Mr. Aldridge,” the voice on the phone said, “I need to ask you one quick question for verification.”
“S-S-S-Sure,” I replied calmly.
“I’m looking at your account history; can you name the restaurant in west Dallas where you ate a couple of months ago and used your charge card?”
Silence. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast, and the man wants to know where I ate in Dallas two months ago. “N-N-No, sir,” I replied, trying to sound like I was in charge of the situation.
Silence again. I’m looking for a SWAT team to converge on the store at any moment.
“How about a hotel in Irving about the same time,” he asked. “The charges were around two hundred dollars.”
A hotel ... in Irving ... two hundred dollars ... a restaurant … in west Dallas. My mind raced as I thought, “Where in heaven’s name had I been?”
“Oh yes,” I almost shouted when it came to me. I responded with the hotel and the restaurant’s name and felt like the jackpot winner of a TV game show. The charge was approved. And I surrendered my “stolen” card while apologizing to the store clerk for creating a problem.
So, this most recent experience behind me, I will have a new card in a few days, and life will return to normal— Sunday afternoon naps and all.
Maybe I’ll nap better if I return to using cash. They do still make cash … don’t they?
