Wednesday, April 1, 2009


When we got to our hotel to check in, the first thing they asked for, of course, was a credit card. I reached into my billfold to get mine, only to realize that the man I’d purchased the electrical adapter from at the airport had never given it back to me.


Now, I don’t know if he did it on purpose (he’d given me my receipt folded to the size of the credit card and I’d placed it in the usual pocket) or if I was just in too big a hurry to get to our train and ran off before he noticed he hadn’t returned it, but either way, I didn’t have it.

Cha-ching. Cha-ching. I could hear charges being made to my account all over the world. I tried the 800 number for my credit card company, but it wouldn’t go through from England. I looked online, but on their whole huge website I could find no place to report a lost or stolen card. I tried calling the phone number on the receipt from the airport to see if maybe they were holding my card and could send it to the hotel, but it went to a central office’s answering machine.

I finally had to swallow my pride, call my husband, confess, and ask for his help. I was really embarrassed to admit what I’d done. It seemed so stupid, and so easily preventable. But he was great. He called and reported it, and we suffered nothing more than the inconvenience of being without our cards for a week until new ones could be reissued.

Whew. It could have been much worse.

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