When I decided to remodel the kitchen last year, I got my sister Margaret Joan and her hubby to agree to be my "contractors" and get everything to happen for me. They did, and I still haven't repaid them for their efforts, I'm sure.
To simplify the task of making purchases that didn't require floating a loan, I got MJ added to my Chase freedom card. For reasons I'll never grasp, that card has the lowest limit I've ever had on a credit card; I think my very first Visa and Discover limits were twice as high as that one—even though Chase holds my mortgage and all my business income, they still give me a minuscule limit on my Freedom card. Go figure.
So after the remodeling was over, I decided it was just about as well for MJto keep hers in case I ever need her to bail me out of who-knows-what or make emergency purchases for me. (If I wind up on the road more since I've quit my teaching gig, that possibility could be real...)
For some reason, a few weeks ago I had a passing thought about the card and checked in with her to be sure she still had it. She assured me she had given it back, which was kind of weird because I'd just cleaned out my sock-and-unused-credit-card drawer and I hadn't seen it. Oh, well; as long as nobody was running it up behind my back, no big deal. I could have chopped it up and thrown it away, for all I remembered. (The Cymbalta commercial says, "Depression hurts; Cymbalta can help." I don't know if it "hurts," but I can assure you it sucks!)
So last month I started getting messages from MJ about having used my card by accident and wanting to be sure I knew I'd get my money back. Huh? I thought she didn't *have* my card!
I have no idea how MJ realized what had happened, but somehow she had confused the Chase Freedom card on her account with the Chase Freedom card on my account, and she and hubby had happily shopped their way all the way from Texas to at least Canada on my card. (Come on; you'd have done the same thing: when was the last time you checked your credit card to see which account it was on? Never, and you know it!)
I have no idea why I didn't pick up on the call(s) from Chase to find out whether I was shopping in Canada--maybe they came in one of those rare times when Number One Son actually answers my phone for me—but I was completely oblivious to this until MJ started frantically trying to confess what she had done. I thought I was going to have to bind and gag her until I had a chance to download the statement and let her know how much she had spent, but she sent a check to cover it almost as soon as I got it downloaded. Once she paid me, she calmed down, I calmed down, life was rosy again.
Until this weekend, when I forgot to melt anything for supper and NOS came home from work not feeling up to cooking anyway, so we decided it was a good night for Subway...the only fast-food joint in the neighborhood that won't take my Discover card. (Neither will Chipotle, but I don't ever need to go there; Subway is near the house and Chipotle is halfway across town.)
I got our sandwich all bagged up and forked over my Freedom card only to have it rejected. Rejected, I tell you! MJ had made it all the way to Canada merrily buying meals and gas and groceries on it, and I can't buy a sandwich at the Subway a mile from my house! What the-----???
The nice chick at the register punched in the numbers by hand, and the machine assured her it didn't recognize/couldn't take my card, and I dragged out my debit card so I could get out of the store. Way too weird.
Just on the off chance that the problem was the Subway machine on the fritz, I stuck the freedom card in a gas pump Sunday and got right through the part where you have to enter your zip code before it told me I couldn't use that card. Gas pumps take Discover, though, so I was still in business. And Discover calls me if I use my card too far out of my neighborhood!
So last night I called Chase to see what was up. I expected to go through a routine of proving who I am before they'll talk to me, but it seemed like the lady I talked with last night was going through an especially challenging routine: when was I born, in what state was my social security card issued, what was my grandmother's blood type--you know the gig. In retrospect, I can't remember a single question MJ couldn't have answered if she'd been on the line, but Chase was sure they were keeping me safe!
After we established that Chase didn't even have my cell phone number (hence the reason I hadn't gotten the calls; I was traveling), I explained to the lady that my sister had been able to use my card to grocery shop in Canada, but I hadn't even been able to buy a sandwich in m own neighborhood, to which she said, "Oh, yes, at a Subway for $8.43." Do what?
Not having talked to MJ, I can't be sure what happened on her end, but somehow she clearly figured out that the card she was using wasn't hers, and she had been in touch with Chase about it. I'll never understand the mentality of the banking community, but when they found out MJ had happily been running up charges on my card in Canada—and then apparently calling them up and confessing to it!—the fine folks at Chase had decided to put a hold on it to keep me from using it in Texas!
It's all fixed now and the lady assures me I can start using my card again (and you can see how important that is to me, since MJ and same went to Canada a month ago and I just figured out my card had been put on hold!), MJ and hubby apparently finished off their trip on their own card, and I've got their money in the bank to pay off mine.
But I'll still never understand the mysteries of using credit cards!
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