Fraud

The woman’s voice on the line sounded official enough. “I’m calling from the fraud department,” she said. “We think someone’s using your credit card inappropriately.” I gave her my vital information. “Thank you, Mr. Matthews. We need to make sure we are in fact speaking with you.” But what if she were actually only pretending to work for the fraud department—a fraud fraud department—and I’d just handed her everything she needed to fleece me. “How do you decide what recent purchases look suspicious?,” I asked, now thoroughly paranoid. She explained, but I couldn’t really follow, unable to stop thinking about this “they” she kept talking about; the ones who purchased $200 of airplane model supplies on line then $150 of electronic products from Walmart. And, just that very minute, were ordering pizza from Dominoes. “Don’t worry, we’ve already cancelled your card.” I couldn’t help picturing two teenagers in a suburban upstairs room, sprawled out in front of the computer, laughing and slapping each other on the back. The pizza guy coming to the door. One of them peeking at the window across the way where we once saw a girl from his school undressing in front of a mirror. I wanted to tell the woman on the phone, “Let ‘em get the pizza. They’re young and are still growing.” The woman was reading from a script now—which would have made this hoax quite elaborate and worthy of my respect—but I’d stop listening. I was hungry and thinking about ordering a pizza.