I opened my banking app on Wednesday evening to discover my debit card number has been stolen for the third time since March. Wheee!
The first time was my fault. I’d put the card in my jacket pocket to make it easier to get both of my dogs in and out of a pet store. At some point I must have been fiddling around with the pocket and dropped the card, where an enterprising person picked it up and more or less immediately treated themselves to an online shopping spree. (Judging by the purchases I’m guessing this was a very young person but still TURN THE FUCKING CARD INTO A STORE AND DEPART WITH YOUR SOUL INTACT.)
The second time someone got the number and pre-paid for cellular phone service in Istanbul, Turkey.
This time, someone used my number to buy a Keurig coffee maker. At least USE YOUR IMAGINATION.
I think from now on I am just going to use my credit card for everything. I mostly use PayPal to buy things online for this very reason but it’s not always possible and it’s much easier to dispute a charge on a credit card than a debit card, which involves waiting until the charge clears (???) and then filing a claim and hoping it gets approved. I am not sure what the percentage of rejected claims is, but I would appreciate my $107 back at this moment, thanks.
One thing I like to do in these situations is, if possible, contact the company where the purchase was made and tell them the amount and the last four numbers of the card and ask them to consider not sending stolen merchandise to a criminal. Petty crime warrants a petty response!
I used part of my day off today to go through my closet and get rid of some clothes. I have too much, no matter how much I give away. Some things are easy to part with: ill-considered pants from American Eagle (tags still on, coming to a thrift store near you), things I wore and got made fun of (happens more as an adult than you’d think and for me always sucks the joy out of the garment), things that were never quite right.
In early 2019 I made a poor life decision and worked in corporate banking for a couple of months. One day, I wore a blouse that never seemed inappropriate at previous jobs but suddenly seemed much too low-cut in the harsh light of a grey cube farm. During lunch, I went to Target and bought an ugly high-necked tank to wear under my blouse and today I took great pleasure in ditching that painfully square item. Enjoy, some other corporate person. My current coworkers will have to deal with some cleavage the same as the past ones did. (Uh if we ever go back to the office.)
But oh I have a hard time getting rid of other things. Wood-soled vintage 1970s 4-inch heels that I wore to clip-clop across Lola when it was in Tremont. The cheap Old Navy dress I was wearing when we got engaged. The 1960s boiled wool jacket with a mink collar that made my now-husband look at me Some Kind of a Way before we started dating. The TAKING NAPS AND CHECKING APPS t-shirt I had to buy at the Target near Moscone Center when I forgot to bring pajamas on a business trip to San Francisco. Many, many things from previous lives that led up to my current life.
I took many, many hangers out of my closet and put them in the spare room closet. My husband has more clothes than I do as a result of not changing his essential style (or the size of his waistband) since he was 16 years old, so he will be glad to claim some of them I am sure. He says he wants to get rid of some things too, but it is even harder for him than it is for me.
It also occurs to me that I could stand to get rid of some puppy clothes. I need to find out if shelters or rescues accept such items as I can see someone at Purple Heart Veterans wondering what kind of weirdly shaped baby they are for.