Month: January 2020

I received an email the other day from a company I have a subscription with. The subject line was “Payment Declined.”

Like many of our bills, this one is on autopay, so it just gets processed each month. The subject line told me fairly clearly that this one did not get processed.

I opened the email. It read, “The card you recently tried to use to pay for your  subscription is not valid. Happens to the best of us.”

My first reaction: The “Happens to the best of us” is a nice touch not to make folks feel bad. My second reaction: Whoa, wait a minute. My bank card is tied to that account.

I grabbed my wallet and checked my card to see that it was still valid. Good through 2023.

My next step was to call my wife, as she is the financial brains in our household. She handles all the bills and does the taxes and all that other stuff regarding money in our house. It’s really a tradeoff. She tends to the important financial things, and I walk the dog each night. We both really do our part to keep the house afloat.

I asked my wife if she knew what was up. She told me she did not, and did offer a rather smart suggestion. She said I should probably go try and use my card somewhere to see if there was a problem, in particular because this was a Friday afternoon and if it was a problem, I’d be without any way to pay for things for the weekend.

I went to a gas station. I didn’t need gas, so I went inside and grabbed a few items. I took them to the counter, and the clerk rung up my purchase. I swiped my card. Card declined

“Can you run it again, please?” I asked.

The clerk looked at me kinda sadly. “Oh, sure thing. I’ll run it again.” Card declined. Great. 

I decided to head to my bank. It was about 20 minutes away, so I figured I would call the toll free number for my bank to see if I could reach a customer service person before I got to the bank. After a few minutes of arguing with the automated menu (“I DON’T KNOW MY ACCOUNT!!! OPERATOR!!!!”) I was on the phone with a live person.

I told him that my card had been declined at a couple of places and I didn’t know why. He said, “Oh, your account was part of a mass data breach and your card was suspended. A new card should have been sent to you.” Ok, first off, mass data breach? Great. Second, well it apparently never made it to me.

I told him that I was near a local bank and asked him if I could get a temporary card so I could, you know, buy groceries and the like. Indeed I could.

I pulled in about an hour before the bank closed for the weekend. I explained what was going on. The bank teller asked, “Did you get a notification?” Yes, I told her. From a subscription service and the gas station. Other than that, no.

In short order, I had a temporary card, and a new card is on its way. I wasn’t given any information on what exactly the “mass data breach” was, and my guess is I will never find out. It’s kind of unsettling that most of our money isn’t actual money, but just a bunch of digital footprints. I’m considering going old school and just keeping my money in coffee cans I bury in my backyard. I hope my online subscriptions can figure out how to come find it each month.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Things I will never truly understand:

1. How film cameras work.
2. Why the other people in my house can’t put shoes back where they belong.
3. Why people don’t merge when the gigantor digital sign spanning the interstate very clear says, “Left lane closed ahead ½ mile. Merge right.”

The first one is one I could probably watch a few YouTubes and get a better understanding, but I prefer to keep that a sorcerer’s secret. The second I’ve just resigned myself to, and will just keep randomly finding one shoe in a bathroom and its mate in the kitchen.

But the third one is truly a modern curiosity of human behavior. I most recently studied this behavior on my way home. There is a bridge near where I live that has been under repair for a while. Part of the bridge was shut down in 2018 for repairs, after discovering “extensive corrosion and degradation.” And I completely understand that traffic has to sometimes be slowed a bit for repairs and stuff, especially when the diagnosis makes it sounds like, you know, the bridge is about to collapse into the river below it.

The bridge reopened a short time after the closing. But ever since that closing, bridge work has been done off and on. Usually, the work is done on weekends, closing just a lane, to minimize impact. This decision was made to do it on weekends because I take that bridge to and from work every day, and they did not want to further inconvenience me. I assume.

I got to experience the weekend construction when I was heading home on a recent Sunday from an out-of-town trip. I had left on Saturday and saw the lane closure and the traffic clogged up on my way out. I said to myself, “I should make a mental note of that and not come back this way.” I then immediately purged that from my brain to maintain ample room in there for movie quotes and sports trivia, thus completely forgetting to take an alternative route on my return.

As I headed down the interstate, I saw the first sign pop up, informing me of the impending left lane closure and to merge to the right. My first reaction was to spend 8-10 seconds berating myself for not remembering to take a different route. (Fun fact: I have a dashcam in my car, and I am really split on whether or not I want to hear what it sounds like when Mike berates Mike on his poor route choices.)

After the berating, I dutifully got in the right lane, as the sign instructed. Half mile to the lane closure.

Some cars were still zooming past me in the left lane, but that was our first sign, so plenty of time for everyone to get in line.

Nope.

By the time the right lane was at a standstill, the left lane kept a buzzing. We inched toward another sign that told us of the lane closure again. I wish it had said, “Get in the right lane. We all have to wait in this stuff. Wait your turn, too.”

Every now and then, as I sat on the interstate waiting for cars to move, I would see a car whip out into the left lane and start darting up, passing the stopped cars. Clearly, those cars contained people far more important than the rest of us peasants. Also, side note: If you are driving a car with your business slapped on the side, I’m gonna go ahead and recommend you don’t drive like that.

A few cars were continuing to pull out when we were a mere 100 yards or so from the lane closure. I was really hoping all the cars in front of me would maintained bumper solidarity and not allow anyone who broke ranks that late in the game to merge. I am all for being kind and letting your fellow drivers merge. I am not for rewarding people who are straight up cutting in line. Imagine if you were in the queue line at Wendy’s and someone a few spots behind you just steps to the front and tries to ease in front of you.

So people, I ask you – please. For the sake of my sanity. When the signs says merge, just go ahead and merge. We are all going to have to sit in a line.You’re not less deserving of a wait than the rest of us. Just get in line. In fact, without the logjam at the lane closure, it will probably speed up everyone’s wait. It’s really a win-win. We can all get home sooner to take care of important tasks. Such as finding where the matching shoe to the one on the living room couch is.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

You have two choices in life. You can be Allie, or you can be let’s call her Sally.

This Allie is not my daughter Allie, although being her can also have benefits, such as spontaneously bursting into song or finding joy in the littlest things in life, such as texting me excitedly about seeing the latest Wonder Woman trailer.

The Allie I am referring to is a clerk at a local book store. The Sally I am referring to is a clerk at a different store.

My wife and I went Christmas shopping the other day. It was exceptionally busy at the shopping center we went to. Side note: I am really not sure why parking becomes extra difficult for some folks during the holidays. I am resigned that many folks are plenty cool with being just abysmal at everyday parking. But when the parking lots are extra full – come on! Just step up your game a smidge and try and not take up two spots.

Anywho, my wife and I had been shopping for a while at a very busy place. We found it actually kind of fun to be in the hubbub and decided we would just go with the flow and let patience be our superpower.

When we went to check out, we had a fairly decent line in front of us. Rather than lament the wait, we decided that we would celebrate that others were shopping for holiday gifts for their loved ones, and we were all in this big ol’ seasonal traffic jam together. 

When we finally got to the checkout, we were greeted by Allie. She welcomed us with as cheerful of a welcome as you could ask for. My wife said, “Our daughter’s name is Allie!”  Allie responded delightfully as she expeditiously checked us out. Our daughter had just gotten her hair done, and had sent us a picture of her new ‘do. My wife pulled a picture up and turned her phone to book store Allie. “That looks just like me!” book store Allie said. Indeed, it did. They were dopplegangers.

We continued to chat as we checked out, but Allie never got behind or slowed down. She was cruising along, but all the while with a great, big smile and happy banter. As we were leaving, my wife and I both said that it was a delight to have someone like Allie tend to you at a retail store. She was pleasant, funny and efficient.

And then we went to another store. We found what we needed, and as we checked out, I can tell you the exact number of words spoken to us by Sally: Two. Those words were a monotone “Thank you” as she handed me my receipt without eye contact. 

That’s it. Nothing before. No, “Hi.” No, “Find everything you need?” Not even a throwaway comment about the weather. Just robotic indifference.

Now, I have no idea what kind of day Sally was having. I have no idea what is going on in Sally’s life. But I do know that Sally was not forced to work retail at Christmas time. She chose this. And she can choose how she will take on the challenge of being at the register during Christmas season.

I write this not to beat up on Sally. Rather, I share this to salute the Allies of the world. To those of you working retail any time, but certainly during Christmas, when you channel kindness and joy, know that it is appreciated. If you encounter a Sally during the final weekend of Christmas shopping, I encourage you to power on and not worry about it. But if you encounter an Allie, I encourage you to snag a manager and tell them you appreciate her. 

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.