Few things are more exciting than moving. Having a root canal. Brain surgery comes to mind. Taking a road trip with the in-laws that you just don’t like.
In our grand move across the country, we’ve had to “spruce up” our fine old house of 30 years.
Now, sprucing up can be a relative term. Sometimes, it’s just a coat of paint in the dining room. Other times it’s a whole new roof that takes a small fortune to accomplish.
We had to pay a painter half of $16,000 for him to do – well, let’s just call it some touch up.
My wife wrote out a check for $8,000. But the pen quit on the first zero of the 8000. So she scrambled to find a new pen and finished the check.
The next day, we checked our bank account, and found that the $8,000 had been returned to the account.
What would you do if you were faced with a similar situation? Well, that’s exactly what we did: call the bank.
It was a tortuous call. Put on hold, transferred, put on hold transferred, transferred, put on hold. We finally reached the fraud department and were promptly put on hold.
While we were on hold, the phone we were using rang and a man came on identifying himself as Isaac from the fraud department. He promptly requested my wife’s social security number, which she quickly gave him. Then he asked for her birth date.
I got all excited and made her hang up the phone before she gave out that information. Come on – there is no way the bank should be asking for your birth date!
I believe the man was honest when he said he was with the fraud department, but I’m rather certain HE was the one committing fraud!
So we had to call the bank again. Transfer, hold, hold, transfer, transfer hold, hold, hold, and then we got to the fraud department where we were put on hold once more.
My wife sighed in frustration “I just want to hang myself!”
The fraud department finally got back on the line and told us someone had written additional zeros on the check to make it $8,000. We explained that that was us because the pen quit. The banker said “Oh. Well, the money is back in your account.”
To get the contractor paid, we had to rush into town, pull out $8,000 in cash and deliver it to the contractor.
Now, I don’t know if you have ever handled $8,000 in cash, but it is a bundle of 80 $100 bills. That is a wad of cash!
We felt like gangsters driving around with this manila envelope stuffed with cash. We met with the contractor in a parking lot, and handed over the dough, glancing over our shoulders for the Fuzz. The Heat. The Man.
When we got home, we saw we’d missed a call from the local police department. Uh oh, we thought. Busted!
How nice is it that the cops call you before they bust down your door and drag you off to the Big House?
We called the number and reached a police officer at his home. He asked if we were okay. He said he’d been to our house, and no one was there.
He said that the bank had reported that my wife was considering suicide. He just wanted to make sure she didn’t go through with it. Well, sure, we said. I mean, that would be kinda bad…
So, we laughed, and explained that oh no, it was just frustration. He laughed, and then asked, on a private note, if that house was still for sale.
What?!? Why, yes it is!
Do you see how the world works? One door opens, another one closes before you can get your foot out of it.
The bank is happy. The contractor’s happy. The cops are happy. And our realtor has a new contact.
Did we get reimbursed for the time, the mileage, or the headspace all this took? No.
But it is nice to know that folks will check up on you if you say something that raises a red flag.
Sad that nobody can take a joke…
John D Reinhart 