After a total of ninety minutes on the phone yesterday, my debit card was finally cancelled—a shame, really, since I repeated it or entered it so often to so many people or systems that the number string is now engraved on my memory.
The final service rep on my journey told me I needed to go to my bank to get a new one, a precaution I understood.* I work the late shift tonight, so I was able to go in this morning.
It doesn’t appear that anyone tried anything before it was cancelled, but the one legitimate transaction I made yesterday morning hadn’t cleared, so it’s possible someone ordered some stuff while I was typing up my vent post yesterday. But that won’t be a problem—the bank is aware that anything purchased with the card after eleven-thirty a.m. isn’t legit.
And I even scored a bonus: while I was talking with the nice banking lady, I mentioned my ongoing problems with Honda’s automated pay service, which keeps taking car payments out of my account and mailing me refund checks with letters telling me to stop sending them money because my car is paid off—it’s the grown-up version of Why are you hitting yourself ? and it’s been going on since October.
My husband had suggested closing my account and getting a new one, and the nice lady agreed with him. My old account has enough to cover that last debit transaction, after which she will close that account and move over whatever’s left. The theory is that the ghost in Honda’s financial machine will note that my first account is closed, note that my account is paid in full, and leave us all the heck alone.**
Until my Discover Card, new banking card, and checks arrive, I’m strictly a cash operation. It’s an oddly helpless feeling, though not two years ago, I depended on cash and checks and now I’m wondering if I can even access my online Discover account without a card number so I can pay my bill on time.
I also have to get the library to direct deposit my paycheck into my new account and call our life insurance place to tell them to pull their quarterly out of the new one. And then I can rest easy.
Okay, so I know it’s possible that the restaurant manager pulled my wallet from my bag to see who I was, some cards fell out, and they put them back in the wrong place. This whole song and dance—and resulting migraine-like pain, I kid you not—might have been unnecessary. But at the risk of sounding paranoid (cough, cough), I don’t know that for sure.
It would be easy to copy the information on my cards, including the three digit confirmation numbers on the back strip, and tell Amazon, et al to send the ‘gift’ to another address. The cards themselves were still there—that’s the savvy way to go if you don’t want to alert the mark that anything’s out of the ordinary. If I wasn’t so retentive about where my cards go or if they’d been returned to the right places, I might have let it go, despite my recent research into frauds, cons, and thefts.
So regardless of how inconvenient everything was, it was the smart thing to do.
Amazon! I need to remember to change Amazon, too! And Sony. And a few other places.
Or I could take the opportunity to delete all my card info from these accounts—it would be more difficult to spend money online if I had to get the card each time.
That would be the smart thing to do, too.
I freakin’ hate learning opportunities.
* Someone jacked my Discover card number a few years ago and tried to get the bills sent to a Brooklyn PO box. Say what you want about Big Brother, but Discover knew I didn’t live in Brooklyn and that I don’t normally buy Jet Skis in bulk. If the thief had hit Godiva or FAO Schwartz, things might have worked out differently.
** Let’s hope I don’t get a call from Honda telling me I’ve missed a payment . . . or things are going to get tense.