This morning I came across the following article on Debit Card Fraud. In fact lately I have come across multiple articles about when you should and should not use debit cards, hot spots for debit card fraud and so on and so forth. Now I grant you that the following paragraph taken from the aforementioned article is completely factual, as I have seen it firsthand while working here at the Credit Union:
"When your debit card is used fraudulently, the money is missing from your account instantly. Payments you've scheduled or checks you've mailed may bounce; you may not be able to afford necessities, and it can take awhile for the fraud to be cleared up and the money restored to your account."
The article goes on to suggest different methods for protecting your financial information such as to beware phishing scams and using bank ATMs as opposed to those located in convenience stores or other unsecured areas. One recommendation in particular, however, really cracks me up:
"Don't make purchases with your debit card. Use a credit card instead, because it offers greater protection against fraud. If you do make debit card purchases, don't use your PIN - tell the cashier to select the credit option. The money for your purchase will still be withdrawn from your account right away, but you won't expose yourself to PIN theft."
Are there schemers out there? Sure. Thieves attach skimmers to ATMs and gas pump that scan your card information and allow them to create counterfeit copies. Hackers are capable of sneaking into merchant or payment system databases and accessing the card numbers of thousands of consumers at a time. Unfortunately in compromise situations like these there is not much one can do except get momentarily angry, contact one's financial institution and then move on.
In 95% of the situations I encounter though, people seem to lack one major thing that could have prevented fraud in the first place:
COMMON SENSE.
In our disclosure we specifically advise members not to record their PIN or keep it anywhere near their card. Disclosures often contain what may seem common knowledge to most, yet somewhere along the line someone could not figure out that writing your PIN in permanent marker on the signature line of your debit card is the equivalent to screaming, "HEY, FEEL FREE TO TAKE ALL MY MONEY!" Memorization of a four-digit number should not require that much effort, not to mention the fact that a PIN can be changed to ANY four-digit number for easier recollection.
I do hate these articles imply that debit cards are completely unsafe though, as there is absolutely nothing wrong with using a PIN for debit card purchases. Now, problems may ensue if one were to perhaps say the number aloud as it is keyed or have the card reader blatantly facing strangers during the transaction because then the safety of one's information probably cannot be guaranteed. But in reality no one needs to become a paranoid loon over this sudden excess media attention. Tomorrow the headlines will read, "Wearing Green Causes Cancer: Your Health Questions Answered!" and debit cards will be safe once again.
To close on a hilarious side note, I just overheard a couple of coworkers exclaiming that our members needed to exercise more common sense. Such perfect timing! It's nice to know that cynicism is not confined to my cube.
30 March 2010
25 March 2010
On The Time I Skirted Jury Duty
Per instructions contained in a letter I had received from Johnston County, I made a call on Tuesday evening to an automated line only to receive the most dreadful news: I had to report for Jury Duty at 10:30 on Wednesday morning.
I arrived early because even in Smithfield it's difficult to find parking when you are heading to the Court House. It was a beautiful day and I tried to remain optimistic that I would not be there long anyway. I found my way to the Jury Pool Room and joined about 35 other uninterested-looking people. We did not have to wait long for some Courthouse employee (I am certain she told us her name and even her title, oops) to come in and present us with a video on why Jury Duty was important and what was expected of us, yadda yadda. She then let us know that if we were selected for the upcoming case we could expect it to last 2-3 days but, gee golly, we are the lucky ones because they have some murder and drug trafficking cases coming up that could last 2-3 weeks! First I thought, "In Johnston County...? Surely not." Then it occurred to me that if I were chosen that would mean wasting MORE of my precious hours in the Courtroom hearing arguments about cases I could not care less about.
I was given plenty of time to the tune of about 3-4 hours to sit there and mull over an escape plan. I even texted a few friends to inquire about the consequences should I simply not show up after they called for the lunch break. I was told bad things would happen, so I scratched that off the list.
Finally one of the Bailiffs arrived to escort us to the Courtroom. I was strangely reminded of entering a church: it was cold, there were only rigid wooden pews to sit on and I felt out of place. The Judge began by explaining the case and introducing the various people in the room. He went on to contradict the information previously provided to us by stating that he expected the case to last until next TUESDAY. For the mathematically challenged, this means I would spend a total of FIVE days in this Legal Hell. I knew at that point I could not leave the odds of being chosen up to fate alone. I had to act fast! Luckily the honorable Judge then uttered the magic words, "If any of you feel you have a valid excuse as to why you should not be chosen, please approach the stand now so that I can speak with you."
After a moment's hesitation I mustered the courage to get up and join the line of about five others. When it was my turn I walked right up to him and said, "Sir, I work at a Credit Union Operations Center and as we have a limited number of employees in our department I feel it is pertinent I be there to attend to my job duties." I hope my jaw did not drop open in disbelief when he said, "Alright then." I earned Ninja Points for this next move though. The Clerk of Courts explained to me that my Jury Duty was only being "deferred" and she needed to know what month was best for them to contact me once again. "How about November or December, honey? Is one of those months good for you?" I smiled innocently and replied, "Oh November's great for me! Thank you so much!"
I am not certain but I may have danced out of that Courtroom.
I arrived early because even in Smithfield it's difficult to find parking when you are heading to the Court House. It was a beautiful day and I tried to remain optimistic that I would not be there long anyway. I found my way to the Jury Pool Room and joined about 35 other uninterested-looking people. We did not have to wait long for some Courthouse employee (I am certain she told us her name and even her title, oops) to come in and present us with a video on why Jury Duty was important and what was expected of us, yadda yadda. She then let us know that if we were selected for the upcoming case we could expect it to last 2-3 days but, gee golly, we are the lucky ones because they have some murder and drug trafficking cases coming up that could last 2-3 weeks! First I thought, "In Johnston County...? Surely not." Then it occurred to me that if I were chosen that would mean wasting MORE of my precious hours in the Courtroom hearing arguments about cases I could not care less about.
I was given plenty of time to the tune of about 3-4 hours to sit there and mull over an escape plan. I even texted a few friends to inquire about the consequences should I simply not show up after they called for the lunch break. I was told bad things would happen, so I scratched that off the list.
Finally one of the Bailiffs arrived to escort us to the Courtroom. I was strangely reminded of entering a church: it was cold, there were only rigid wooden pews to sit on and I felt out of place. The Judge began by explaining the case and introducing the various people in the room. He went on to contradict the information previously provided to us by stating that he expected the case to last until next TUESDAY. For the mathematically challenged, this means I would spend a total of FIVE days in this Legal Hell. I knew at that point I could not leave the odds of being chosen up to fate alone. I had to act fast! Luckily the honorable Judge then uttered the magic words, "If any of you feel you have a valid excuse as to why you should not be chosen, please approach the stand now so that I can speak with you."
After a moment's hesitation I mustered the courage to get up and join the line of about five others. When it was my turn I walked right up to him and said, "Sir, I work at a Credit Union Operations Center and as we have a limited number of employees in our department I feel it is pertinent I be there to attend to my job duties." I hope my jaw did not drop open in disbelief when he said, "Alright then." I earned Ninja Points for this next move though. The Clerk of Courts explained to me that my Jury Duty was only being "deferred" and she needed to know what month was best for them to contact me once again. "How about November or December, honey? Is one of those months good for you?" I smiled innocently and replied, "Oh November's great for me! Thank you so much!"
I am not certain but I may have danced out of that Courtroom.
22 March 2010
A Rush of Blood to the Head
On an insignificant sunny afternoon I am in a white dress walking through an open grassy field. All around me there are daisies and wildflowers; the bees humming as they go about their work. The grass tickles my uncovered feet and I feel free. I look up at the brilliant blue sky and notice puffy clouds that are moving quickly, much too quickly, above my head. A light breeze drifts through the air and my nose is greeted by a sweet floral scent. I shiver as something soft brushes my shoulders and I turn, alarmed by the ghostly touch. When I find no one I glance down and notice silky brown curls brushing my bare skin. It seems strange that my hair is long again but I do not have time to question it. I feel I should keep going.
As I continue my stroll I come across a heavily wooded area. The trees grow so tall here that I cannot make out where they end; their arms reach right into the Heavens. I take one long look back at the glowing field and move forward into thick darkness. Since the dense canopy of the surrounding trees allows very little light to peek through I am struck with the idea to crawl along the cool floor. Though an unseen branch grabs hold of my dress and rips a small tear in its thin material and despite the knowledge of being coated in soil I am not hindered in my progress.
Soon enough I reach a clearing and in the middle is a building. It is difficult to make out but it appears to be the auditorium from my original elementary school, the same old brick building that housed my Father and Grandmother during their years of primary education. Something tells me this is impossible as I recall the building being torn down some years back; however curiosity outweighs my doubts and I pull myself up and through the crumbling doors. Inside it looks the same as I remember it: creaking wooden chairs that are not comfortable in the slightest, unstable balcony overhead, outdated chandelier with dim yellow lights and a small wooden stage. In the center of the stage is a lovely man, a fine example of the tireless cliché tall, dark and handsome. He is surrounded by some of my friends and a handful of strangers. I watch him carefully from the end of the room, drawn to his humor and charming smile just as the others seem to be. I decide to approach them since I see familiar faces but I stumble and have to catch myself on a nearby chair. He looks up at me then, distracted by the noise yet the only one who seems to notice my presence. When our eyes lock in that moment I feel overwhelmingly vulnerable. I go to move, perhaps to hide, but find I am unable to do so. The man smiles at me, unconcerned by my awkwardness and unkempt appearance. I notice I am returning his smile only after my lips have already turned themselves upward in acknowledgement. He climbs gracefully down from the stage and as he begins to walk toward me...
...my eyes shoot open. It is 06:15 and some irrelevant news story is now blaring from my radio...
Damn my luck.
As I continue my stroll I come across a heavily wooded area. The trees grow so tall here that I cannot make out where they end; their arms reach right into the Heavens. I take one long look back at the glowing field and move forward into thick darkness. Since the dense canopy of the surrounding trees allows very little light to peek through I am struck with the idea to crawl along the cool floor. Though an unseen branch grabs hold of my dress and rips a small tear in its thin material and despite the knowledge of being coated in soil I am not hindered in my progress.
Soon enough I reach a clearing and in the middle is a building. It is difficult to make out but it appears to be the auditorium from my original elementary school, the same old brick building that housed my Father and Grandmother during their years of primary education. Something tells me this is impossible as I recall the building being torn down some years back; however curiosity outweighs my doubts and I pull myself up and through the crumbling doors. Inside it looks the same as I remember it: creaking wooden chairs that are not comfortable in the slightest, unstable balcony overhead, outdated chandelier with dim yellow lights and a small wooden stage. In the center of the stage is a lovely man, a fine example of the tireless cliché tall, dark and handsome. He is surrounded by some of my friends and a handful of strangers. I watch him carefully from the end of the room, drawn to his humor and charming smile just as the others seem to be. I decide to approach them since I see familiar faces but I stumble and have to catch myself on a nearby chair. He looks up at me then, distracted by the noise yet the only one who seems to notice my presence. When our eyes lock in that moment I feel overwhelmingly vulnerable. I go to move, perhaps to hide, but find I am unable to do so. The man smiles at me, unconcerned by my awkwardness and unkempt appearance. I notice I am returning his smile only after my lips have already turned themselves upward in acknowledgement. He climbs gracefully down from the stage and as he begins to walk toward me...
...my eyes shoot open. It is 06:15 and some irrelevant news story is now blaring from my radio...
Damn my luck.
20 March 2010
Good Day Sunshine
When I woke up today and pushed aside my heavy dark curtains to let in the sunlight I could not help but smile. My head was pounding, my nose was still stuffy and my throat was still sore but the knowledge that Winter is quickly fading and that warm Spring and Summer nights are swiftly approaching was cause enough to ignore any physical discomforts. Shortly after I emerged from my room my Mother opened wide all the windows and doors in our home. The breeze is drifting in beside me now and I am experiencing so many things I had no idea how much I missed. I can smell the new grass and the freshly bloomed flowers, hear the sound of a neighbor's lawnmower and I have a lovely view of the bluest, clearest skies I have witnessed in quite some time...
This is how inner peace feels for me.
Happy Weekend, everyone.
This is how inner peace feels for me.
Happy Weekend, everyone.
18 March 2010
Wal-Mart: An Ode to Incompetence
After my visit to Wal-Mart today I wanted to calmly ask everyone minus the morons in the Pharmacy to evacuate the store and then blow it all to Hell. Instead I came home and wrote an email. What will this accomplish, you might ask? Probably nothing except my own peace of mind. Plus I stayed classy.
Good evening. I am writing to express my extreme dissatisfaction with the Wal-Mart Pharmacy in Clayton. Today I requested my doctor’s office to fax in my prescription at approximately 4:45 PM in the hopes that it would be ready by the time I went to pick it up. When I arrived over an hour later I was told it was not ready because Wal-Mart policy states “in-store prescriptions” are handled first. I would like to note that I find this completely unprofessional. In the office where I am employed we process our members’ cases in the order in which they are received, regardless of whether the information is faxed, emailed, etc. By doing so we ensure that all members are treated fairly and equally.
I was told to wait a few minutes, which soon turned into a half hour. When I was finally called back to the counter, I was then informed they could not fill my prescription because they were “out” of the medicine. I would have to accept half the medicine then and come back the next day to retrieve the rest. I asked if I could have my prescription to take with me and have it filled elsewhere to avoid this inconvenience and the pharmacy technician told me that because it was faxed in they could not give it to me. I also find this “policy” absurd. It was I who requested this prescription to be faxed in the first place, so why does this mean I forfeit my right to take my business elsewhere when Wal-Mart failed to provide what I needed in a timely manner? They did offer to call in the order at another pharmacy, so I requested they contact a location closer to my office and I would pick it up in the morning. She told me it would be taken care of and I could leave.
When I arrived home I contacted the other pharmacy to confirm that this call had taken place. Not only did Wal-Mart fail to give them my correct name but they also provided them with an incorrect birth date, even after I verified all of my information numerous times. Luckily the other pharmacy’s employees were competent enough to sort out the mess and I will be able to pick up my medicine tomorrow.
I sincerely hope that this matter is researched promptly and that those employed in the Clayton Wal-Mart Pharmacy can learn to pay closer attention to detail and to treat other customers with respect. It is absurd that I did not receive so much as a half-hearted apology from any of these employees. I will certainly be taking my business elsewhere and advise others to do the same.
Most Sincerely,
Virginia Hendrick
Good evening. I am writing to express my extreme dissatisfaction with the Wal-Mart Pharmacy in Clayton. Today I requested my doctor’s office to fax in my prescription at approximately 4:45 PM in the hopes that it would be ready by the time I went to pick it up. When I arrived over an hour later I was told it was not ready because Wal-Mart policy states “in-store prescriptions” are handled first. I would like to note that I find this completely unprofessional. In the office where I am employed we process our members’ cases in the order in which they are received, regardless of whether the information is faxed, emailed, etc. By doing so we ensure that all members are treated fairly and equally.
I was told to wait a few minutes, which soon turned into a half hour. When I was finally called back to the counter, I was then informed they could not fill my prescription because they were “out” of the medicine. I would have to accept half the medicine then and come back the next day to retrieve the rest. I asked if I could have my prescription to take with me and have it filled elsewhere to avoid this inconvenience and the pharmacy technician told me that because it was faxed in they could not give it to me. I also find this “policy” absurd. It was I who requested this prescription to be faxed in the first place, so why does this mean I forfeit my right to take my business elsewhere when Wal-Mart failed to provide what I needed in a timely manner? They did offer to call in the order at another pharmacy, so I requested they contact a location closer to my office and I would pick it up in the morning. She told me it would be taken care of and I could leave.
When I arrived home I contacted the other pharmacy to confirm that this call had taken place. Not only did Wal-Mart fail to give them my correct name but they also provided them with an incorrect birth date, even after I verified all of my information numerous times. Luckily the other pharmacy’s employees were competent enough to sort out the mess and I will be able to pick up my medicine tomorrow.
I sincerely hope that this matter is researched promptly and that those employed in the Clayton Wal-Mart Pharmacy can learn to pay closer attention to detail and to treat other customers with respect. It is absurd that I did not receive so much as a half-hearted apology from any of these employees. I will certainly be taking my business elsewhere and advise others to do the same.
Most Sincerely,
Virginia Hendrick
17 March 2010
When Captain Obvious Strikes
We all know people who like to point out the evident details of our daily lives. It's the person that walks up when you have a fork in hand preparing to take a bite out of your macaroni and cheese and they ask, "What are you up to?" Those are times when I like to put on my best innocent face and say, "Gee, I don't know. I was thinking about doing some finger painting but maybe I'll just EAT MY LUNCH INSTEAD." I find these situations pretty freaking funny, but if there is one thing I absolutely loathe is for someone to approach me as I'm carrying my Chloraseptic Spray in one hand and tissues in the other and say, "You don't look like you're feeling well!"
@#$%!
Really? I already feel like a monster with my puffy red nose and scratchy voice but do you have to point out to me that I am not looking my best? I find it slightly disheartening to know that my efforts to look semi-normal while still suffering from this cold/allergy/sinus creature thing were in vain. Luckily I am optimistic as I have scheduled a visit to the doctor for tomorrow afternoon. Bring on the antihistamines.
On an almost completely unrelated side note, this same person commented on my attire for today and inquired about whether or not I am wearing green. I happen to have my turquoise necklace and when I flashed it in her direction she said, "Oh good! I thought someone was trying to get pinched! Hee hee!"
A warning: If you pinch me I am likely to dropkick you. Don't get me wrong; I love silly holidays and traditions as much as the next person but if a stranger comes up to me and invades my personal space on the grounds that it's Saint Patty's Day and I do not appear to have on my festive colors that's taking it a lot too far in my book. Just saying.
To anyone heading out for an Irish-style drunken evening, cheers! I would join the party but in my ripe old age of early-twenties I prefer to stay in on the eve of an 07:00 workday.
@#$%!
Really? I already feel like a monster with my puffy red nose and scratchy voice but do you have to point out to me that I am not looking my best? I find it slightly disheartening to know that my efforts to look semi-normal while still suffering from this cold/allergy/sinus creature thing were in vain. Luckily I am optimistic as I have scheduled a visit to the doctor for tomorrow afternoon. Bring on the antihistamines.
On an almost completely unrelated side note, this same person commented on my attire for today and inquired about whether or not I am wearing green. I happen to have my turquoise necklace and when I flashed it in her direction she said, "Oh good! I thought someone was trying to get pinched! Hee hee!"
A warning: If you pinch me I am likely to dropkick you. Don't get me wrong; I love silly holidays and traditions as much as the next person but if a stranger comes up to me and invades my personal space on the grounds that it's Saint Patty's Day and I do not appear to have on my festive colors that's taking it a lot too far in my book. Just saying.
To anyone heading out for an Irish-style drunken evening, cheers! I would join the party but in my ripe old age of early-twenties I prefer to stay in on the eve of an 07:00 workday.
16 March 2010
On My Blonde Moment
That's right: I pulled out the Blonde Card for this one. I do not typically use this cliche, as my Father and Sister are both natural blondes and easily two of the brightest people I know; however I needed a widely-known phrase to emphasize my moronic moment yesterday evening...
After work I went for a run with Allie and it was fabulous! I would estimate we ran for about a mile through the woods, which is impressive considering our previous state of prolonged physical inactivity and considering the difficulty of the trail. Lake Johnson, our local Nature Park, has some monstrous hills to overcome. We finished up our evening by walking the last two miles or so, chatting about upcoming trips and parties.
By the time I drove home it was safe to say I was exhausted from the exercise and from the lack of sleep I experienced the previous night. I was looking forward to a giant baked potato and salad my Dad had made for me, so when I got inside I threw my stuff down and headed straight for the microwave. I noticed an odd smell coming from the much-anticipated spud but thought nothing of it until I cut a nice hole down the center. Have you ever seen pictures of someone suffering from the Bubonic Plague? That's kind of how the inside of my potato looked. Needless to say it quickly disappeared in the trash can.
Since I was out a main course and it was already getting late I elected to throw together something quick and easy: chicken and rice. Let me preface by pointing out that my Mother has these burner covers decorated with little farm animals that I bought her for Christmas a couple of years ago. When we cook we usually only remove "x" number of covers depending on how many burners we plan to use, right? I tossed two of them on top of the other side of the stove along with my lunch box and garlic salt, pepper, etc that I was using on my chicken. I go to boil my rice but a few minutes later I started wondering why nothing was happening in my pot. I glanced over and noticed thick smoke pouring out from under the covers. A horrible metallic burning smell started to fill the room. I may or may not have uttered a few expletives at this point. Instead of immediately turning off the (wrong) burner I stood there yelling at my Dad that I had made a mistake and things were now burning. As I reflect on the situation I suppose this caused MORE damage, hmmm. Apparently it took me saying this out loud to snap myself out of my daze and grab my lunch box, the garlic salt and the now blackened farm decor from the sizzling stove.
After we silenced the smoke alarm, calmed my skiddish Great Dane, turned on all the fans and opened the doors to try and filter out the stench of burning paint everything calmed down, though I'm not sure my Mother appreciated my cheery rendition of "The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire! We don't need no water let the mother- -" (You get the point.) I have decided that once I replace her burner covers, however, I will be removing all of them from the stove when I cook whether I use one burner or four. Safety calls.
I will also add that while my parents were not angry at all they have found such hilarity in the situation that I am now subject to jokes such as, "Be careful using that stove today without adult supervision!" Har har.
After work I went for a run with Allie and it was fabulous! I would estimate we ran for about a mile through the woods, which is impressive considering our previous state of prolonged physical inactivity and considering the difficulty of the trail. Lake Johnson, our local Nature Park, has some monstrous hills to overcome. We finished up our evening by walking the last two miles or so, chatting about upcoming trips and parties.
By the time I drove home it was safe to say I was exhausted from the exercise and from the lack of sleep I experienced the previous night. I was looking forward to a giant baked potato and salad my Dad had made for me, so when I got inside I threw my stuff down and headed straight for the microwave. I noticed an odd smell coming from the much-anticipated spud but thought nothing of it until I cut a nice hole down the center. Have you ever seen pictures of someone suffering from the Bubonic Plague? That's kind of how the inside of my potato looked. Needless to say it quickly disappeared in the trash can.
Since I was out a main course and it was already getting late I elected to throw together something quick and easy: chicken and rice. Let me preface by pointing out that my Mother has these burner covers decorated with little farm animals that I bought her for Christmas a couple of years ago. When we cook we usually only remove "x" number of covers depending on how many burners we plan to use, right? I tossed two of them on top of the other side of the stove along with my lunch box and garlic salt, pepper, etc that I was using on my chicken. I go to boil my rice but a few minutes later I started wondering why nothing was happening in my pot. I glanced over and noticed thick smoke pouring out from under the covers. A horrible metallic burning smell started to fill the room. I may or may not have uttered a few expletives at this point. Instead of immediately turning off the (wrong) burner I stood there yelling at my Dad that I had made a mistake and things were now burning. As I reflect on the situation I suppose this caused MORE damage, hmmm. Apparently it took me saying this out loud to snap myself out of my daze and grab my lunch box, the garlic salt and the now blackened farm decor from the sizzling stove.
After we silenced the smoke alarm, calmed my skiddish Great Dane, turned on all the fans and opened the doors to try and filter out the stench of burning paint everything calmed down, though I'm not sure my Mother appreciated my cheery rendition of "The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire! We don't need no water let the mother- -" (You get the point.) I have decided that once I replace her burner covers, however, I will be removing all of them from the stove when I cook whether I use one burner or four. Safety calls.
I will also add that while my parents were not angry at all they have found such hilarity in the situation that I am now subject to jokes such as, "Be careful using that stove today without adult supervision!" Har har.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)