BERRRAAAACK! Bzzzttt clicken!
“Hello?”
Fweeeeeet! ACK ACK! Bzzzzrrrrrttttt!
“Hello? Is anybody there?”
[Distant conversation.]
“Hello‽ Can anybody hear me‽”
“Oh. Are you still there? What can I do for you?”
What, indeed?
I had just received my credit card statement for the month. It included 30 payments to [UNNAMED ASIAN ELECTRONICS COMPANY], ranging from 99 cents to $45, totalling almost $300. I did not recall buying anything from [UNNAMED ASIAN ELECTRONICS COMPANY], let alone 30 anythings totalling almost $300.
I called the [UNNAMED ASIAN ELECTRONICS COMPANY], Canada Customer Service number to determine what had happened. Having a background in science fiction, I was not daunted by the weird sounds that greeted my ears (“Hello, ears! Have This!”) when the call was answered. Having dealt with customer service in the past, I was familiar with the concept of Canadian call centres being based in other countries, such as India (although the person on the other end of the phone had a Latin American accent, which confused me: why would Indian call centres hire Latin Americans?). I wanted to get to the bottom of the expenditures, and nothing was going to stop me!
“Yeah, the only thing you should be charged for is a recurring charge for your phone,” the man on the other end of the line told me. As soon as I heard that, I had a startling revelation.
This man was not going to be able to help me get to the bottom of the expenditures.
With that avenue blocked off for subway construction, the only other thing I could think of was to call my bank. I explained the situation to somebody at their call centre (apparently, the Indian call centres also hire people with mid-Atlantic accents – clever bastards!), who referred me to the bank’s fraud division.
A man with a hard voice answered. It was a voice that had seen it all, done it all, and was no longer impressed by life, so how could you possibly think it would be impressed by you? It was a voice that warned you not to mess with it, because it would cut you. It was exactly the kind of voice you would expect to work in a fraud division.
The voice that had seen it all and done it all and was clearly not impressed by me asked me a few questions to determine that I was who I said I was (fortunately for me, I was). He told me that there would have to be an investigation, which could take two or three months; if he was satisfied that the charges weren’t legit, I would be reimbursed at that point. In the meantime, I should destroy my old card, which had already been deactivated (by psychic link?); I would get a new one in a day or two.
The next day, Alice – remember Alice? This is a song about Ali – wait, no it isn’t. Sorry – acid flashback.
The next day, I had an appointment with my dentist to get a filling. Since my job doesn’t cover dental (since I don’t have a job), I usually pay with my credit card. Which I would not have for a day or two. Unfortunately, my dentist was very considerate and allowed me to pay using my debit card.
When I got home, half of my face was numb from the anaesthetic; even though I was groggy and in vague pain, I couldn’t swear for the catharsis. So, as a substitute, I watched the first couple of episodes of Netflix’ The History of Swear Words. It helped. Dammit!
Still vaguely achy and unable to say anything that didn’t make me sound like a Dick Tracy villain, I started organizing my business receipts for 2020 to help me put together my taxes. Because nothing can make an already problematic 24 hours that little bit more dreary than working on your income taxes.
As the dentist was removing the 30 year-old filling (it is sobering to think that I have fillings that are older than some of the world’s most popular rock stars and actors), he explained that he didn’t want to put a glob of enamel into my mouth, that he took extra time to shape it for maximum mesh with the teeth around it.
In short, my dentist is an artist. He is the Da Vinci of dentists. The Goya of gum disease. The Picasso of plaque removal. He would make my mouth all pretty.
And, really, after the 24 hours I had had, who would begrudge me a pretty mouth?