I was recently treated to a few minutes of humiliation by my credit card company. “No charge,” they said. “It’s just a courtesy service we provide.”
Courtesy? That was like an angry cowboy mob telling a rustler “No charge for the noose. It’s just a courtesy service we provide.”
They rejected my card.
I’d have preferred something less embarrassing like a kick in the groin. Or pictures from my high school prom. Or a public review of my medical records.
I know what you’re thinking. If you just paid your bill on time, you wouldn’t have this problem.
They didn’t reject my card for non-payment. They rejected it because I was traveling. My great sin was going on a trip without telling them first.
Here’s how it went down. My wife and I took a little road trip. One afternoon we stopped in Mesquite, Nevada to fill up the tank. I swiped my trusty credit card through the pump and the tiny screen said, “See cashier.” The curt tone of that command should have been my first clue that something was amiss.
I shuffled my way into the store, approached the counter like a convict approaching a judge for sentencing, and told the nice lady what had happened.
“Let me see your card,” she said. Her voice wasn’t unkind, but there was a sternness to it. It was a tone which said you-thought-you-could-cheat-the-system-and-now-you’ve-been-caught.
The derelict standing next to me at the counter expressed the same idea using the much simpler, “You’re busted!”
“Not likely,” I muttered. “I just paid my bill.”
The cashier wasn’t interested in what I had to say. She had to deal in realities, not pretty words. She dialed a cordless phone, listened a moment, and started punching in the numbers from my card.
“Can I see your driver’s license?” she asked.
“Uh…sure.” I handed it over as well. Now I was a modern man nearly laid bare. I couldn’t buy anything and I couldn’t drive anywhere. If she’d asked me to turn over my Bargain Club card, it would have been the trifecta of unmanliness. There’d have been nothing for me to do but move into the wilderness and write long anti-technology rants on a manual typewriter.
As it was I stood there while she read my driver’s license information into the phone.
“Yeah, it’s him,” she said peering at the photo and comparing it to my flesh-and-blood face.
Then she handed the phone across the counter and said, “They want to talk to you.”
“Hello?” I asked.
“Mr. Cummings. Did you use your card three times on the 7th?”
I thought back, carefully counting the memories. Had I used it three times or four? Was this a trick question? If I got it wrong would the police show up to drag me away? How comfortable were the jails in Mesquite?
“Yes,” I said. Had to go with something and “yes” seemed as good an answer as “no”.
“I see. Are you traveling?”
“Yes,” I felt a little more confident answering that. After all, I was about five hundred miles from home.
“Very well. We sent you a letter on the 7th, but you can disregard that. We noticed some unusual activity on your card.”
Traveling! I wanted to say, but settled for “Uh-huh.”
“You can disregard the letter and I’ve cleared the hold on your card.”
“Thanks.”
So, it turns out they were just protecting me. Watching my card and guarding it against improper use. But did they have to humiliate me to do it?
The answer is, of course not. The embarrassment was just for their own amusement. If they really cared about me as a person, they’d be less concerned about fraud and they’d start offering card monitoring services that are really helpful.
For example, what about a SIZE-MINDER service?
Face it, when it comes to buying clothes, guys are generally idiots. Never mind that we often pick clothes so ugly that our wives would never actually wear them on their own personal bodies. Even when we manage to get the style right (yeah, a backless sweatshirt with a plunging neckline, that’s the look for her) and pick one of “her” colors (she did say she liked pale green with orange accents, right?) we still screw up on the size. This is because we pick some random employee in the clothing store and say, “My wife is about your size.”
Here’s a hint, fellas. None of the women in the store are your wife’s size. You’re the guy who has trouble finding the remote just after you set it down. You can’t possibly remember what your wife looks like unless you’re staring right at her.
A Size Minder service could help. If we tried to buy the wrong size the computer could warn us with friendly messages like “Just how big do you think she is?” or “Who are you really buying these jeans for ’cause they won’t fit your wife?” If we tried to buy something flimsy, gauzy and completely inappropriate outside of a Vegas chorus line, the computer would just laugh.
If that doesn’t suit you, how about a TICKET MINDER service? Let’s say you buy movie tickets on-line and pick some big, action-filled, brainless blockbuster like An Inconvenient Truth. Ticket Minder could substitute a more appropriate and uplifting movie like Mission Impossible III. Or, if you picked a guy film and your significant other wanted a chick flick, the computer could settle the dispute by picking the tickets she wants.
I only worry that my credit card company is also tracking my food and restaurant purchases. Any day now I expect a letter which reads:
Dear Mr. Cummings,
We’ve been monitoring your food choices and we’re deeply concerned. Please consider changing to a healthier diet at once. Or else we’ll be forced to freeze your credit and subject you to public humiliation.
