Tearing a bill open as I walked back from the mailbox, I mentally went through the stuff I bought, reasoning with relief that I didn’t use that card overly much. Imagine my shock when I saw a $3,000-plus amount due. I was speechless.
Taking it back to my office where I could gather my senses, I spread everything out on my desk. Astonishingly, I saw a charge of $3,016.95 for a ski resort vacation in Colorado.
Those of you that have come to know me will realize I’d never pay to go on a snowy vacation; I rather dislike the snow we get at home. I’ve never strapped my feet onto skis nor would I ever have the inclination to do so. I immediately called the credit card company.
This started a process I’d never dreamed I’d have to undertake.
First off, the hoops one has to jump through to talk to a living, breathing person would try the patience of Job. Finally connecting to a live tech she said, “I’m sorry, I need to speak to the primary card holder.”
My heart sinking, I crumbled.
Truthfully and spontaneously, I blurted out, “Oh! Do you realize how hard it was to get to you? My husband has to call back? Could you stay on the line with me while I track him down? He’s on the farm somewhere.”
She laughed (she was real) and said compassionately, “Sure I can hold.”
Beyond relief, I spotted him driving the skidder out to the heifer barn and hailed him down.
“Could he take a video of himself and send it to me?” was the next incredulous question.
“You want him to take a video of himself?”
She must have heard my frustration. It was preposterous. She caved.
“Just let me talk to him that will be fine.”
They hashed it over and, relieved, I felt that we had taken care of the problem.
Relief short-lived.
Two days later, I again received shocking news in the mail — this time two, first-class mail pieces arrived, made out to someone with our address on the outside envelope. Opening it up I was astonished to find two legitimate-looking card passes, complete with bar codes to where? A ski resort in Colorado. The passes had smiling pictures of people I did not know with names matching the outside of the envelope. And our address. These people were either really dumb criminals or had been duped along with us.
Gathering my courage, I called the Shawano County Sheriff’s Department and, after explaining the situation, they said they’d send an officer out to my residence that very day.
Spotting a squad car coming down my driveway made me shiver. The sheer presence of an officer commands respect. I started to feel guilty, and I wasn’t even the guilty party.
The officer was patient, professional and kind. Sitting at our kitchen table, he listened intently and before leaving, confiscated the two mail pieces and snapped a picture of our statement with the fraudulent charge.
A few days later the same officer called back asking if we’d like to file a formal identity theft claim as all signs were pointing in that direction. He did not suggest we should or should not; merely mentioned a possible direction we could take. If so, he’d return to gather more information. My husband and I quickly agreed that yes, we would like to proceed.
A squad car at the Reminger homestead twice in one week? I can’t imagine what our neighbors were thinking. They were probably thinking we were having trouble, which we were. Taking a formal, written statement, the officer listened and wrote furiously. Afterward, he read it back to me and finding everything accurate, I signed and dated the affidavit. We were on our way. He suggested patience during the procedure, and as of this writing, it has yet to be resolved.
On the officer’s advice and because this unknown person (or persons) had our correct address, we stopped our — thankfully few — credit and debit cards. Waiting to receive new cards, I had to postpone reestablishing corrected information on auto withdrawals. Also, following the officer’s suggestion, I contacted both our banks to put passcodes in place.
During this whole process, I talked to many sympathetic people, reaffirming deep in my heart that there are more good, kind and moral people in this world than the opposite. If only the ones that use the intelligence the good Lord gave them for good rather than evil. I got righteously angry. My sister called them scoundrels, which means a dishonest, unscrupulous person; a rogue. An apt description, surely.
(“Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead, expose them.” Ephesians 5:11)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.