The other day, the bank’s Fraud Department’s automated call system telephoned to request that my husband call them to discuss some suspicious charges.
Turns out someone somehow stole the numbers from his debit card and were using this fake card to pay for stuff. Five charges were made before the bank caught on and called us.
His card was in his wallet when I called him. We have no idea how this crime was committed. (I’d love to really know the details.)
He canceled the card and the bank told us what to do to recoup the money that came from our account.
The funny thing is that the person who stole from us did not really live it up. He or she bought almost fifty bucks worth of stuff from Gymboree, fifteen dollars worth of gas from Shell Oil, a meal at Denny’s for $15.99, a Coca-cola for $1.75 from a vending machine and stayed at the Courtyard Marriott (that charge hasn’t cleared yet). As it turns out, the charges have to clear first before we can contest them and get reimbursed. (Nice, huh?)
Seriously, if I were living on stolen money, is that how I’d spend it? I’d like to think I’d buy a ticket and high-tail it to Tahiti with an all-new wardrobe. If I were a thief. Which I am not.
I wonder if this thief will be caught? I somehow doubt it.
* * *
Meanwhile, I’m sleeping a little better. I’m just thankful that my insomnia is not made worse by having to care for babies with irregular schedules. I was reminded of those days by an old journal I came across this weekend. When my twins were three they had chickenpox back-to-back. For six days, I hardly slept. Aside from the time my son had surgery and was hospitalized and then sent home with a catheter (!!!), the chickenpox days were among the worst days of my motherhood.
Now, at least when I can’t sleep, that’s all I have to do: not sleep.