Monday, March 12, 2007
The Hamburgler makes me Grimace.
I spent the weekend flowering my upcoming nuptials with my Betrothed in the city of our would-be union and deciding what to feed our rowdy band of wedding revelers. It was a success all around and we are sure to have a sweet-smelling, well fed day complete with a groom's cake -- unheard of north of the Mason-Dixon (heathens).
Sunday I arrived home to pay some bills and make sure I was good and ready to head into my spring break. While checking the ol' credit card statement online I happened to notice that someone had mysteriously spent about $1300 at Macy's and $300 at 7-11 on my behalf. Also called, fraudulently. Only thing was that my credit card was sleeping soundly in my wallet the whole time. Apparently, according to the good and overworked people of the fraud department of my credit card, the information off of the magnetic strip of my card had been lifted with some sort of criminal device and then put on a dummy credit card that was toted all over northern Virginia last weekend.
Though I'm sure that credit card theft is my official initiation into adulthood -- a rite of passage suffered by most of the adults I know, it goes without saying that the whole thing sucks. Not only did I spend the better part of Sunday feeling so oddly violated, but I've been credit-cut-off for the next week awaiting the replacement (hello, debit card. Remember me?). And THEN I get to spend the next week calling each of the vendors who have my credit card on auto-pay and changing the information. I am likely to forget a few and then get that sad letter in the mail about how it didn't go through.
But first, let's talk about some of these charges. $300 at 7-11 is not only insane, but practically and feasibly impossible. What on earth does 7-11 have worth, collectively, $300? Please, enlighten me. Some of the going items are: lottery tickets (though I am fairly certain you can't buy them with a credit card), pre-paid cell phones, gift cards, cartons of smokes or fill 1 SUV (har, har, I had to make the requisite gas-guzzle joke).
The funny thing is this: the BFF was called last week by her credit card company (hereafter: CCC) for a similar string of purchases outside her normal spending habits. Same days, same places and same outrageous amounts. At the time, we didn't think too much about it -- except that it sucked for her. When it happened to me, though, with large magnifying class and swirly pipe we deduced that we last met, credit-card-to-credit-card, when we split a check for burgers at a Red Robin two weeks ago -- a fact both of our CCCs were delighted to learn. Elementary! Allegedly, our waiter allegedly took both of our cards and allegedly swiped them through this alleged device to obtain the strip information and then allegedly create fake cards with which to allegedly splurge all over town with. We'd been hamburgled. And this is why crime doesn't pay. If it had only been done to one of us, we never would have been able to trace it back or make the connection.
{The Betrothed makes a solid point on this matter. People are wont to complain about the security of online purchasing. Putting your credit card "out there" for anyone to grab up. True. But think of all the times that you have been out to dinner and you HAND your card to some 17 year old who walks away with it for 5 or 10 minutes with complete and ample opportunity to do whatever the like with it. It just makes you think, doesn't it? I hate it when the Betrothed makes me think.}
Not only that, the powers that be at Red Robin have not only been notified (I'm a tattle-tale 'til death) that they have have a potential thief in their midst, but they are hot on the trail. In the meantime, Red Robin has lodged its apologetic self so far up the BFF and I's asses that we've been tasting burger and unlimited fries all day. Which, really, isn't a problem. There could be worse corporations in our asses when you think about it. In fact, this Friday, we've been invited to dine with the regional manager for the eastern seaboard so that he can personally apologize to us, give us gift cards and treat us (and even the Betrothed) to dinner. We shall, therefore, be spending the rest of the week preparing to eat our faces off, Red-Robin style. There will be appetizers involved.
Today, I decided, then, to do my best to wipe the whole unpleasant experience from my mind. Debit card in hand, I went to an afternoon showing of a movie I've been dying to see (but have been yet unable to convince the Betrothed is worth his time to see). 300. Yes, I said it. I wanted to see 300. I'm a girl and I want to see 300. I've wanted to see it since the blood first splattered across the screen during some preview months ago. I was the only chick in the theater today-- which wasn't a terrible ratio, really, since there were less than 10 people in the theater.
300, in a blood spattered nutshell, was completely, freaking awesome. I have never in my life wanted to be a Spartan more (or really at all until today) than this afternoon . I was nearly pumping my fist in the air cheering them on. I also considered that the movie could be alternately titled: Numerical Porn. Naked chicks and hot gladiator sex scenes. It was like the Matrix meets Gladiator. Only awesomer. It was a great story. It had great characters. It was a visual, artistic feast for the eyes and absolutely majestically created computer graphics that made the whole theater feel like some darker part of their Sparta with upholstered seats and sticky floors. I have spent the rest of my afternoon contemplating a workout that will buff me out more Sparta-style as well as how to talk the Betrothed into leather speedos and a red cape on a regular basis.
If only I could assemble such an army to seek out and gruesomely destroy my own hamburgler.
Watch your credit cards, friends. And if that fails, go see 300. Well, go see 300 anyway. But keep a close eye on that concession stand kid.
Sunday I arrived home to pay some bills and make sure I was good and ready to head into my spring break. While checking the ol' credit card statement online I happened to notice that someone had mysteriously spent about $1300 at Macy's and $300 at 7-11 on my behalf. Also called, fraudulently. Only thing was that my credit card was sleeping soundly in my wallet the whole time. Apparently, according to the good and overworked people of the fraud department of my credit card, the information off of the magnetic strip of my card had been lifted with some sort of criminal device and then put on a dummy credit card that was toted all over northern Virginia last weekend.
Though I'm sure that credit card theft is my official initiation into adulthood -- a rite of passage suffered by most of the adults I know, it goes without saying that the whole thing sucks. Not only did I spend the better part of Sunday feeling so oddly violated, but I've been credit-cut-off for the next week awaiting the replacement (hello, debit card. Remember me?). And THEN I get to spend the next week calling each of the vendors who have my credit card on auto-pay and changing the information. I am likely to forget a few and then get that sad letter in the mail about how it didn't go through.
But first, let's talk about some of these charges. $300 at 7-11 is not only insane, but practically and feasibly impossible. What on earth does 7-11 have worth, collectively, $300? Please, enlighten me. Some of the going items are: lottery tickets (though I am fairly certain you can't buy them with a credit card), pre-paid cell phones, gift cards, cartons of smokes or fill 1 SUV (har, har, I had to make the requisite gas-guzzle joke).
The funny thing is this: the BFF was called last week by her credit card company (hereafter: CCC) for a similar string of purchases outside her normal spending habits. Same days, same places and same outrageous amounts. At the time, we didn't think too much about it -- except that it sucked for her. When it happened to me, though, with large magnifying class and swirly pipe we deduced that we last met, credit-card-to-credit-card, when we split a check for burgers at a Red Robin two weeks ago -- a fact both of our CCCs were delighted to learn. Elementary! Allegedly, our waiter allegedly took both of our cards and allegedly swiped them through this alleged device to obtain the strip information and then allegedly create fake cards with which to allegedly splurge all over town with. We'd been hamburgled. And this is why crime doesn't pay. If it had only been done to one of us, we never would have been able to trace it back or make the connection.
{The Betrothed makes a solid point on this matter. People are wont to complain about the security of online purchasing. Putting your credit card "out there" for anyone to grab up. True. But think of all the times that you have been out to dinner and you HAND your card to some 17 year old who walks away with it for 5 or 10 minutes with complete and ample opportunity to do whatever the like with it. It just makes you think, doesn't it? I hate it when the Betrothed makes me think.}
Not only that, the powers that be at Red Robin have not only been notified (I'm a tattle-tale 'til death) that they have have a potential thief in their midst, but they are hot on the trail. In the meantime, Red Robin has lodged its apologetic self so far up the BFF and I's asses that we've been tasting burger and unlimited fries all day. Which, really, isn't a problem. There could be worse corporations in our asses when you think about it. In fact, this Friday, we've been invited to dine with the regional manager for the eastern seaboard so that he can personally apologize to us, give us gift cards and treat us (and even the Betrothed) to dinner. We shall, therefore, be spending the rest of the week preparing to eat our faces off, Red-Robin style. There will be appetizers involved.
Today, I decided, then, to do my best to wipe the whole unpleasant experience from my mind. Debit card in hand, I went to an afternoon showing of a movie I've been dying to see (but have been yet unable to convince the Betrothed is worth his time to see). 300. Yes, I said it. I wanted to see 300. I'm a girl and I want to see 300. I've wanted to see it since the blood first splattered across the screen during some preview months ago. I was the only chick in the theater today-- which wasn't a terrible ratio, really, since there were less than 10 people in the theater.
300, in a blood spattered nutshell, was completely, freaking awesome. I have never in my life wanted to be a Spartan more (or really at all until today) than this afternoon . I was nearly pumping my fist in the air cheering them on. I also considered that the movie could be alternately titled: Numerical Porn. Naked chicks and hot gladiator sex scenes. It was like the Matrix meets Gladiator. Only awesomer. It was a great story. It had great characters. It was a visual, artistic feast for the eyes and absolutely majestically created computer graphics that made the whole theater feel like some darker part of their Sparta with upholstered seats and sticky floors. I have spent the rest of my afternoon contemplating a workout that will buff me out more Sparta-style as well as how to talk the Betrothed into leather speedos and a red cape on a regular basis.
If only I could assemble such an army to seek out and gruesomely destroy my own hamburgler.
Watch your credit cards, friends. And if that fails, go see 300. Well, go see 300 anyway. But keep a close eye on that concession stand kid.
# posted by Cathy @ 10:17:00 PM 
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I, Kevin, my dad, and my sister's boyfriend went to see 300 this weekend, and I agree that it was completely freakin' awesome. Was it just me, or were the 300 buffed out beyond comprehension?! I loved every gory second! Plus, I thought Leonidas' wife - the queen - was badass and I wanted to be her (well, except for the whole getting raped part).
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