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Ginny inserted her debit card into the chip reader a second time. She glared at the display. Go ahead. Deny me again, bitch.
“I’m sorry, miss, it says your card is declined.” The cashier didn’t sound sorry.
A heavy sigh came from someplace in the line behind Ginny. She glanced back at the people waiting their turn. Some more patiently than others. She flashed a thin-lipped smile at the girl behind the register. “Cancel the transaction. I need to call my bank.”
Ginny didn’t feel nearly as cool and collected as she sounded. Her entire savings was in her checking account. Thousands of dollars. She should have no problem buying a can of Pringles and a Diet Coke.
She dialed her cellphone as she strolled away from the register. The air conditioning didn’t cool the heat of frustration and impending anger rising under her skin.
The voice of the automated system came on the line. Ginny listened as it listed her recent transactions, her gut revolting more with each dollar amount. None of those were her charges.
The instant the system gave her a chance, she opted to speak to a live person. She leaned against a nearby wall. Please don’t be sick. Keep your cool until you have answers. Screaming at people never solved anything.
She winced each time the phone rang in her ear. A recording told her there was a short hold time, and someone would be with her shortly.
Fuck. She clenched her jaw.
She’d graduated from med school just a few months ago. Finally, after nearly half a lifetime of college, she had her PhD. She was heading to California to start her psychology residency. She hoped to get a little experience over the next year to put her in the right specialty—working with victims of sexual abuse.
Ginny was getting away from this place. Away from anybody who knew she’d stripped to put herself through school. She didn’t have a problem with the job—it was fun and it paid well—but the stigma that came with the work wouldn’t help her career.
“I’m sorry for the wait, how may I help you?” A pleasant voice greeted her.
Ginny grasped her thoughts. “I’m having some issues with my account. I believe my card has been stolen.”
“I can help you with that. What’s your account number?”
She wanted to scream at the woman for being so calm in the midst of a crisis like this. Instead, Ginny gave her the appropriate information. First for her account, then for the various purchases.
“I’m sorry this happened,” the teller said sweetly. “I’ve canceled your card.”
“And reversed the charges?”
The woman tsked. “That takes a little longer. You’ll need to fill out the appropriate paperwork and wait for it to be processed—”
“I don’t have time for that.” Ginny snapped off the words. Several people in the store glared in her direction. She swallowed her frustration. “I didn’t mean to yell. I need to know how to do this more quickly. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can do. You need to complete a Dispute Charges form.”
Ginny clenched her jaw and breathed through her nose, grateful the teller couldn’t see her growing anger. “Can you tell me why so many charges were allowed to begin with? Aren’t those supposed to trigger a flag?” If the system broke, maybe that was loophole for Ginny.
“It looks like your account has been flagged. There’s a note that says you’re planning to travel. The flags are different in that case.”
“Fuck.” Ginny stamped her foot. The shout and mini-tantrum earned her another round of stares from other shoppers.
“Miss, if you can’t watch your language, I’m going to end the call.”
She scrubbed her face, and stared up at the ceiling. “Please don’t hang up. Is there anything I can do to expedite the dispute process? Anyone I can talk to? I’m happy to pay a fee, if that’s what it takes.”
“There are no options like that. I can add another note to your account, asking them to push things through faster, but there are no guarantees.”
“I see. Tell me how to file the dispute.”
Ginny made a note of the information. She needed her laptop, and it was home, packed up with the rest of her belongings. She’d sold her beater car, knowing it wouldn’t make the drive from Atlanta to San Francisco. That money had been in her bank account too.
The grocery store was only a mile or so from her house. She thought the walk down here would be relaxing. The time it took her to get home on foot would feel like an eternity.
To help pass the time, she called the movers and make sure they were still on track to pick up her things tomorrow. She’d paid a little extra to ride with them. It was cheaper than flying or taking a train.
“We’re sorry, but this number has been temporarily disconnected or is no longer in service.” The recorded message mocked her.
Her rage rose another notch. She checked her phone to make sure she’d pulled up the right number, and dialed again.
Same message.
She was going to be ill. There were other numbers though. One of the movers had called her a few days ago to verify some information. She looked at her phone’s history and dialed.
“We’re sorry, but this number—”
She hung up. The time it took her to walk the rest of the way to her apartment seemed like an eternity, but she was home less than ten minutes later.
She unpacked her laptop and went to the movers’ website. The numbers there were the same as on her phone. She searched for their name, and several results came back, all dated within the last few days, for people who had contracted them and couldn’t reach them now.
Ginny’s stomach churned as she read through a series of forum posts on a complaint site.
“I woke up to a drained bank account.”
“They took my deposit and vanished.”
“I filed a police report. The cops told me I wasn’t the first, and I’d be lucky to get my deposit back.”
It might have been nice if this mover’s history of scams appeared in searches two weeks ago, when she looked them up. Were the references they gave her staged too? She wouldn’t be surprised.
Ginny wouldn’t panic.
Correction—she was already panicking, but she could bring it under control.
What were her priorities?
Finding a way to get to San Francisco before her residency started.
Making sure she didn’t lose her belongings in the process.
When she broke things down that way, the to-do list wasn’t so daunting. She didn’t have solutions, but naming her next steps was better than The sky is falling and I’m going to die.
She’d reclaim most of her money once the bank reviewed her dispute. If she could come up with enough to get her across the country and cover the cost of a storage unit for her belongings, that would hold her over.
Ginny didn’t borrow money from, or lend it to, friends. A lesson learned too many times over between work and school. She couldn’t ask her parents. They were struggling as it was.
She didn’t have credit cards. One of her goals during college had been to come out of it debt free, and she’d managed that. But that also meant a bank wasn’t likely to give her a loan, even a small, short term one.
Some of the girls at work got those payday loans. They were high interest, but Ginny only needed it for a few days. She turned back to her laptop and typed payday loan into her search.
A billion results came back. Or at least enough she didn’t know where to start.
Eenie, meenie, minie, moe... She clicked a random link.
Online application? Totally doable. She didn’t even make it past the Address part of the form before stalling. Did they want to know where she lived now, or where she’d be in a week?
She dialed the number on their site, and asked her question of the person who answered.
“I’m sorry, hon.” The woman spoke in a heavy drawl. “But’s not likely they’ll approve you if you don’t have a permanent address.”
“But I do. I’m in the middle of moving.”
“Across the country. Give us a call in six months when you’re settled.”
Fine. She could deal with this. She tried two more random sites. Frustration bubbled to overflowing when they each told her the same thing.
“FUUUUUUUCK!” Ginny threw her laptop bag across the room. It thunked against the wall and slid to the floor, mocking her with its lack of empathy. She was grateful no one would cast a nasty glare at her in here.
She needed to get to California in the next seven days, so she could start work. She was broke. Her ride had bailed. And she had a house full of stuff, with nowhere to put it.
What was she going to do?