Mercury in retrograde

My brother David swears that everything goes wrong with communications when Mercury is in retrograde. In case you’re wondering, Mercury rules communications, so when it appears to go backwards in the zodiac, things tend to get messed up. I don’t know, but it sounds good to me.

Recently, a colossal screw-up occurred when the excellent Credit Card Fraud Protection Division went on red alert over some charges to my account. They emailed several times and they called, and left messages. The charges in question were small ones, but I didn’t recognize the names they gave me, and because credit card fraud is a danger here whenever one uses a card, I said, albeit reluctantly, “No, I didn’t authorize those charges.” As I uttered the words, I experienced an epiphany concerning the fallout from a cancelled credit card.

We use the card for every transaction over ten dollars, and pay the entire bill each month. We never pay a cent of interest; we accrue travel miles; and so far, the card is still free. “Don’t worry,” the nice folks at Capital One, assured us, “We’ll pay all of your regular debtors.” But mentally, I’d moved on to the next big problem.
“I live in Costa Rica,” I said. “It’ll take three weeks to get the card.”
“Oh, we’ll put a rush on it,” said the always-affable customer service clerk. No matter what you do, I thought, the card will arrive in three weeks.

The next morning, I had two emails from Skype. “Problem with your payment,” announced the first. “You’ve been successfully cancelled,” said the second. Expletive deleted, I thought, and sent an emergency email to Skype, with the subject line: “Please don’t cancel our service!” I explained how we happened to deny the payment, how we really, really needed the service, and then I gave them another credit card number to use. The other card is a  don’t even think of using me card, because one late payment on it had led to exorbitant finance charges- but I needed Skype, so I relented.

Skype customer service folks and I exchanged a number of emails. I tried to determine a way to actually talk with someone, but that option didn’t exist. In each email, I detailed the problems, using bullet points and numbers for clarity. The Skype folks responded the same way each time. They were sorry, they said, but I’d have to open a new account, and they’d never again take my credit card. Each time, they failed to answer my questions.

Today, I received another email that claimed to be a survey of customer satisfaction with Skype, but the “Click here to start” button didn’t work. So far, they haven’t re-sent the survey, but I’m not worried, because Mercury resumes forward motion next week.

Then Netflicks chimed in with a notice that our card had declined their payment. Since we don’t have a TV, we use Netflicks on demand to relax a bit before bed. I want my Netflicks.

I received notice that my new card had been sent by USPS overnight delivery, and that someone would have to sign for it. “How the hell are they going to get me to sign for an item in Costa Rica?” I asked Jack.

On the fourth try, Capital One answered the phone. I punched in the required answers to the zillion verification numbers, and finally found my way to a live person. They’d sent my card to the address we use in the States, which turns out to be a good thing. Now my friend Edwina, whose address it is, can tell me the new account number, the security code and expiration date, and I can activate it and use it.

Living here in Costa Rica is not like the US, of course, and I don’t expect or want it to be. However, and ironically, Uncle Sam has made it much more difficult for Americans living here to do business. For example, opening a bank account here requires a letter of recommendation from a prior bank in addition to two business and two personal references. What ever happened to the free toaster? Once established, accounts here are subject to rigorous scrutiny each year, in an attempt, I suppose, to thwart money laundering. But hey, Uncle, living on social security and a small pension hardly puts us in the same category as drug lords.

In the US, I had a small supplemental retirement account with AXA Equitable. Every other week, a sum from my paycheck was invested in stocks, until I retired and rolled over my lump sum distribution along with the total I’d managed to save.

I have a little money from the sale of my house that I wanted to invest. AXA Equitable said no. Only folks who are living in the US may invest. I huffed and puffed, and said, “Fine, if you don’t want my money, I’m sure someone else does.” Wrong. My teacher’s credit union said I couldn’t pay bills online, because of not living on US soil.  I tried to buy stocks through ING direct, where I had a savings account, but made the stupid mistake of betraying my actual location. They said no. Finally, as if all the banking obstacles weren’t bad enough, I’m not allowed to access TV from outside the US online, unless I cheat. Which I do.

There’s nothing like reading about something horrible happening elsewhere to put petty, albeit legitimate gripes into perspective. Today, I’m glad I’m in Costa Rica, and not in El Salvador, where gangs have killed over 100 transport workers, including bus drivers and passengers this year, and routinely paralyze traffic. Talk about communication problems.