Scammed Under the Washington Monument by an Ice Cream Man
And what I learned
Three days ago, I wondered where my next Medium story would come from. And then it fell into my lap.
The Scam
Which was as unprotected as my debit card when I placed it in the hand of the smiling Ice Cream man as he delivered two chocolate sundaes out the van’s high window — calliope music in the background. It was 90 degrees, so I worried they would melt.
He asked if I was alone. I said yes, and handed one back to get my debit card out. Rebecca was sitting a block away, under the Washington Monument. What a nice guy, I thought. He returned the card a minute later, along with the sundae, smiled, and said have a good day.
We’ve just returned from Washington, D.C. I wrote about our recent trip here. Yesterday, Rebecca and I totaled our expenses by reviewing our online bank accounts.
For July 5, I saw four debit card charges. Three, we recalled, including the ice cream. One, for $41.34, we didn’t. The name was Ta Ha Production Washington Dc. There was the funny name and the lowercase c. We wracked our brains and kept coming up with nothing: no restaurant, no cab, no convenience store, and no online purchases.
Finally, Rebecca said I should dispute the transaction. I used the online form connected to the Ta Ha activity. I was surprised to hear from my local bank the next day.
The Rescue
On the phone, Katie asked if I had lost my debit card. I said no. I told her the ice cream story. We reviewed my online account and all the purchases during our four-day trip. Thirty minutes later, all evidence pointed to the ice cream man or someone else in his van. She said my card was put into a Square mobile card reader — $31.34 was deducted, plus a $10 tip. The friendly ice cream man or an accomplice had used a skimming device to scam me.
Katie said the thieves now had my debit card numbers, so I needed a new card. Unused card in hand, I worked through all my automatic withdrawals changing card numbers. My bank has a card swap program, and Katie helped me use that. With those tasks completed, I sat down with my banker and asked what I had done wrong.
She stated the obvious. I gave my card to someone I did not know who had used it out of sight twice instead of once. At our favorite local restaurant, we do this all the time. A waiter takes the card and returns it five minutes later with paper to sign. He could do the same thing the ice cream man did, but he doesn’t.
Katie told me she hears fraud stories every day. Some are like mine. Card numbers are stolen using a skimming device. Another familiar tale involves a contrivance placed over the pin pad at a gasoline pump.
Yesterday, I took this photo at a local convenience store gas pump.
Scammers could place a fake keypad over this real one. The fake reader steals card information. The official-looking yellow tape and security statement gave me confidence. But Katie also suggests jiggling the pad to make sure it is genuine. I did, and it was.
However, in my newfound enlightenment, I tapped my card on the contactless reader you see above. I then went into the store to ask how often they check fake gadgets on the six pumps — twice a day, said the counterperson. And, she said for emphasis, we pay close attention to the pumps furthest from the doors.
Takeaway
I grew up in the 1950s, waiting for the summer bell of the Ice Cream Man. He, always a young man, sat atop a bicycle seat with a rectangular freezer fitted onto the front wheels. My favorite was a chocolate-covered drumstick with a topping wedge inside the bottom of the pointed cone to finish the experience.
For a frozen-treat guy to cheat me 65 years later bums me out. And he lied in the shadow of America’s never tell a lie, first President. That’s why I selected a photo of the obelisk slightly off-center. That’s how I feel.
Ice cream has been so good to me that I’ve written three other stories with it as the central character. I’ve included links to them below. And, just for good measure, I’ve thrown in one of my most popular essays about why self-promotion is hard for me. If that’s not enough irony for you, for the price of this tale, you get easy access to FIVE others by me.
Do you see what ice cream does to me?
Scams are supposed to happen to other older people, not me.
But ice cream discombobulated my judgment. That’s why I could take the card out of my billfold that I had purposely put that morning in the Kansas City hotel in my front pocket, reminding myself to keep my hand clasped around it as we went through the day in the airport, train station, and amidst the crowds on the Washington Mall. And, without a care other than whether the sundaes would melt, hand it to a charlatan hanging out a window.
I’ve learned my lesson well.
Today, we go to the county fair for pork chops on a stick and chocolate malts. Both are to die for.
I’m bringing cash.
