I called a couple of credit card companies yesterday to add a travel
note to my accounts since I’ll be on the road in June. The first call went without a hitch. The rep was in Delaware, and we were able to
efficiently work our way through my Southern English and her Northern version. The second card company I called, however,
appears to have outsourced their customer service to India or Sri Lanka or some
other third-world country where the labor is cheap and the English is shitty.
The first representative spoke English so poorly (and rapidly) that I
hung up and called again. At least I had
the courtesy to pretend like we had a bad connection before I hung up on
her. I’m classy like that. The second rep was slightly better, even
though I’m pretty sure his name wasn’t really “Tim”. Whatever.
As part of verifying my identity, he asked me confirm that my most recent purchase was made to the Bunny Ranch on May 21 in the amount of $600. Ummm… I know I drink a lot, but I feel sure I haven’t been to the Bunny Ranch this month. And I damn sure know I don’t pay to see naked women, since I can see a naked woman any time I want (no matter how appalling it may be). Naked men, on the other hand? Never mind.
I hung up with the credit card company and immediately called Jeff.
LAB: Have you been going to
strip clubs or getting hookers while I’m at work?
Jeff: While you’re at work? No.
LAB: They why are there charges
to the Bunny Ranch on our Visa?
Jeff: Not a damn clue. But if I made the charges I can assure you I
didn’t get my money’s worth.
LAB: Visa said there’s a $600
charge to the Bunny Ranch on May 21.
Jeff: May 21? 600?
LAB: Yep.
Jeff. Hahahahahahaha! That was an order from Box Wrench for
carburetor parts.
I’m cancelling that damn card.
