An Open Letter to the thief who tried to steal my American Express number:
Based on your brief and futile shopping history, you clearly DO NOT know anything about me.
You’re tech-savvy…I’ll give you that. You somehow got my name, my security code and my credit card number while my card sat nestled safely in my wallet. You then were able to take all that encoded info and replicate a Platinum AMEX card that actually passed muster in a store.
I’m impressed. Truly.
If I had those skills, I’d probably be writing a poignant goodbye letter to my friends while driving a Bentley fitted with a huge U-Haul trailer. My children would be right behind me in their respective U-Haul-lugging Lamborghini and Maybach. I can’t speak for my men, but I’m highly confident that my daughter’s U-Haul would most probably contain an unconscious James Franco, bound and gagged. My husband would be following in his Tesla (I do not think Tesla offers a trailer hitch option. I would volunteer to take his stuff because I am an awesome wife). My trailer would be stuffed with crocodile Birkins, three Shetland ponies, every infomercial item I’ve ever seen and the entire contents of four Dylan’s Candy Bar stores. These ill-gotten gains would be stuffed into new Louis Vuitton steamer trunks with 43 rescue dogs sitting on top of them and I’d be en route to my Gulfstream jet headed to a country with very loose extradition laws.
Being that I can barely program directions into a GPS or handle an email account more complicated than AOL… I’ll probably never have the opportunity to test my integrity.
Yet, Mr. Credit Card Thief, with all your computer intelligence, and the ENTIRE consumer world being your veritable oyster, your FIRST (and last) shopping choice was to walk into an auto parts store in a small town in Georgia and go on a shopping spree for fuzzy dice and rims.
Honestly, I am a little insulted.
Because of you, I now know the actual real-time speed of a nanosecond because that’s how long it took the Fraud Alert Department at AMEX to call me. I swear the guy on the phone was laughing at you. Anyone reviewing my purchase history would know that there are very few things that would raise a Fraud Alert eyebrow, yet you succeeded. This month alone, my credit card statement includes Fresh Balls cream for my husband’s testicles. Again, this is because I am an awesome wife and I fully recognize the issues associated with South Florida humidity and good hygiene.
My credit card statement also includes payments for the services rendered by some great doctors with really scary specialties because my youngest child had a terrifying health scare (also the reason why I started my blog off with a bang and then fell off the face of the earth for the past two weeks). Instead of blog-writing, or wondering why the hell someone bought a commemorative Dale Earnhardt steering wheel cover, I was worrying about my daughter. Worrying works, by the way. Ninety-nine percent of the things I worry about end up turning out fine. My daughter will definitely be in the 99th percentile.
As for you, Mr. Credit Card Thief, I won’t worry about you for even one nanosecond. I am a firm believer in karma. One day, I believe that you’ll wake up to find your credit card statement is fourteen pages long. There will be a sizable purchase at Louis Vuitton and Dylan’s Candy Bar. If you look closely, you will also notice that you have donated a king’s ransom to a local animal shelter. And when you look out your window, you’ll probably see a convoy of luxury vehicles bogged down by overstuffed U-Haul trailers. Look closely at the girl in the lead. The top of her Bentley will be down to make room for her big umbrella. And she’ll definitely be shooting you the bird.