Saturday evening, as I squandered yet another hour cruising the
Internet, my phone beeped, letting me know a text awaited my attention. The
text was from the credit card folks. A pending charge to my card seemed
suspicious. Did I want them to pay it? It was a small bill. $30, but it was
from a company I'd never heard of. The text told me to answer either
"yes" or "no".
I took the third choice and
ignored the text. It says on my card that I've been a cardholder since 2003. In
those seventeen years, the company had never sent me a text for any reason.
Granted, the only other time they got suspicious was on a very un-Tom like
shopping day. Russ took me several places that day. I used the card to fill
Russ' gas tank, fill our stomachs with lunch, get a few things at Target, then
to get a new laptop to replace the one I had spilled water on a few days
before. The laptop was too much for the credit card's suspicion detectors, and
they wouldn't accept the charge. The clerk called the credit card company, and I
was able to convince them that I was who I said I was.
There was also the matter of
the phone number the text said I could call if I had any questions: It wasn't
the same number my card said to call with questions about my account. Someone
was trying to scam me, I was sure of it. And I neither called nor texted the
credit card company, forgot the whole thing.
Although, I didn't forget it
for long. Monday, an email from Publix's pharmacy lurked in my inbox. Did I
want to be notified by email when my prescriptions are ready for pickup? Well,
of course. There used to be a very dedicated computer that alerted me that my
meds were ready. Every time Publix had a bottle of drugs with my name on it,
the computer called me. "Hello, this is the Publix Pharmacy in the Milgen
Plaza," it said, "A member of your family has one prescription
ready for pickup. The amount due is [exoribant]. If you have picked up
prescriptions in the last 24 hours, please disregard this message."
Recently, however, the computer
has been less than dependable. I think this is because it has been given more
work to do. Now, two weeks before my supply of atenolol or bupropion is about
to run out, the computer calls to ask if everything with the drug remains the
same. When I push the number that means "yes" to the computer, it
tells me it will call back when the prescription is ready. Ha! It might call
back, but more often it doesn't.
Getting an email notification
seemed like a great idea, and I quickly set about typing in the information needed
to get on their email list. When I finished that, I was told there was a
prescription for atenolol ready for pick up. Would I prefer to pay for it now
by credit card? Another great idea. Russ would have to pick up the atenolol for
me. If it was paid for before he got to the Publix Pharmacy in the Milgen
Plaza, he could just get it and go.
Of course, to do that, I had to
type in the credit card information. I did, only to be told that the
information was not correct. Hitting the wrong key isn't unusual when I'm at
the computer, so I tried again. No luck. And there was no luck on my third try,
nor my fourth attempt. Maybe I should call the credit card company. I did,
using the number on the credit card, not the one in the text.
Once satisfied that I was
Thomas Harris, I was told there were five suspicious charges. My panic subsided
when the list of questionable charges was read to me. The first was the item
from Saturday's text. The other four were my unsuccessful attempts to pay
Publix for the prescription.
"We're going to send you a
new card," the woman said. "Destroy your old card. The new card
should arrive in five to seven days." I did, and the new card arrived
yesterday.
Monday evening was notable for
another reason. The Columbus Clinic called to remind me I had an appointment to
see my primary care doc Wednesday morning at nine o'clock. Trouble was, I knew
I had an appointment Wednesday morning at the Amos Center for an ocrevus
infusion at 8:30. Ocrevus is one of the few drugs that has had some success
slowing the progress of primary-progressive MS. Each infusion takes four or
five hours. I couldn't do both in a day, let alone finish at the Amos Center in
time to get to the Clinic a half-hour later.
However, the gods of motor
vehicle maintenance were looking out for me. On Monday the Covenant Woods bus
wouldn't start and was towed away. Tuesday morning, Dennis, the bus driver,
told me that the bus might be ready Wednesday, or it might not. What did I want
to do? Rescheduling the appointments seemed like the best way out, And, I
wouldn't have to face the embarrassment of telling the people in the doctor's
office that I had been stupid and careless. "Can't make it. The bus is in
the shop." And, as things turned out, it was still in the shop Wednesday
morning.
