Showing posts with label lying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lying. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 17, 2022

An Open Letter to Chase bank

Dear Chase Bank Liars and Cheats,

Regarding my Southwest Airlines Rapid Rewards credit card, I dislike you greatly. Please don’t misunderstand, I like the card itself, just not you.

I applied for this airline miles card while booking our summer vacation flights to Washington, D.C., the place where you should be tried and convicted for fraud and probably also treason.

The offer you presented me was an immediate $200 statement credit, and then 30,000 bonus miles and a companion ticket after I spent $5000 on the card in the first three months. We have three teenage boys who eat everything inside a ten-foot radius of their bodies during all waking hours, so I figured no problem on the $5K.

I clicked yes to your offer, saw my $200 credit on the first bill, and bought $5000-worth of teenager fuel on the new card well before the three-months were up.

Then a funny thing happened. No miles and no companion ticket showed up. OK, I figured, you’re waiting for the three months to expire and maybe a little longer just to make sure I don’t return anything I bought, even though that would be physically impossible. Everything I bought was gone before I could even set it on the counter or put it in the fridge. Seriously, they come out to the car and eat the groceries right out of the bags. We’re raising wolves.

Anyhoo, months past the spending deadline, I dove into my Southwest miles account only to see that you had given me 10,000 miles about a month after I opened the card, and nothing else. Hmm… That’s 20,000 less than you said I was getting, and conspicuously lacking the promised companion ticket.

Here’s where my intense dislike of you begins. I grabbed my file folder and looked at the paperwork that showed up with the card. Nothing at all regarding the deal. I looked for an email from you. Nothing. I found your phone number and called you. After about a month of sweet hold music, your first customer service agent was useless. They had access to less information that I did. It was as if I’d called my neighbor for help.

We escalated to a manager, which required another few years of hold music and empty statements about service and gratitude and loyalty, only to be further disappointed. I know we’re all big on pronouns these days, but your managers are using them wrong. He kept saying “they” instead of “we” when referring to Chase Bank. I called Chase. Who the hell do you work for? Did that first guy just transfer me to his dad?

The end result was that dad put in a “formal request for investigation” to “them” (you), and I received a letter in the mail seven to ten business days later. It said the stupidest thing I’ve ever read, and keep in mind, I have proofread all my sons’ school essays since kindergarten.

We regret to inform you that the 30,000 points and Companion Pass offer has expired as of March 14, 2022 all request will be declined after that date regardless of date account was opened.  

Not only was the grammar in that sentence atrocious, but I opened the account on February 14, 2022. That’s a month before the offer expired. When I pointed out that fact to a different manager after another few decades of hold music, he was similarly powerless to change anything, even after I carefully walked him through the intricate calendar math. He was able to put in another formal request for investigation, but warned me ahead of time that “they” would probably just send me the same letter. Seven to ten business days later, he was proven right.

It was at this point that I decided to sue you. That fantastic dream was soon shredded when I Googled my situation, only to find hundreds of posts on various complaint-based sites detailing someone else’s tale of my exact experience with “them” (you).

Each story came with multiple comments of commiseration from similarly affected consumers, along with tips from trollishly helpful internet bystanders, like, “you should have taken screen shots,” and “you probably didn’t understand which offer you were actually applying for.” Whatever you’re paying those trolls, you should double it. They are exceedingly good at being the exact opposite of what “we” (us) need.

We obviously have the class, but we all know class action lawsuits are useless. You’ll pay out $100 million dollars, which you’ll just take out of your petty cash drawer, the lawyers will get $70 million, and each affected credit card holder will get $1.38.

No thanks.

I spent about three minutes Googling how to sue you in small claims court, but just reading about the process, let alone the process itself, was intolerable.   

So here I am. Mad at “them” (you). Disappointed in everyone involved. And ultimately, pissed off most by the math. I would love to take my little personal stand of decency and morality and ceremoniously shove your Rapid Rewards credit card into my shredder, but I won’t. That’s the part that makes me dislike you the most. The math works. It makes financial sense for me to keep this card, and I am ultimately, at my core, logical and practical.

I hate that.

So, I will keep using this credit card and getting Southwest milage points, but I just want you to know, I’m not happy about it. (I’m happy with the points. Just not you!)

Take that.

Spitefully,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2022 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Being Santa

All three of our boys still believe in Santa. Son Number One just turned eleven. Either we’re really good, or he’s not that bright.

It doesn’t snow where we live. They never question the probably massive coefficient of friction between metal sleigh runners and a dry concrete tile roof, or the amount of sparks and noise that would occur on a hard landing. We have a glass-encased gas fireplace with a chimney that’s only as big around as a soda can. They never question the logistics of his entry. They leave milk and cookies out in front of the glass for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. The milk and cookies always disappear, and there are muddy reindeer hoof prints on our front walkway and little bits of chewed-up carrots on the lawn every year. They never question how or why the reindeer come down to the lawn to eat, or what happens to the sleigh when they do.

Now, don’t misunderstand. We’re no longer in the starry-eyed new parent phase of trying to “keep the magic alive” for our “precious boys.” Frankly, they’re really not that precious anymore. At this point it’s more of a contest of wills. A Christmastime Mexican standoff between them and us. How long can we continue to fool them?

The boys of Team Slightly Skeptical are starting to question a few things, but so far we parents at Team North Pole are holding our own. Having the kids help with household chores backfired on us a few weeks ago when Son Number Two found the hidden roll of “Santa wrapping paper” behind our bedroom curtain while he was vacuuming. He is by far the sneakiest of the three boys, so he didn’t tell us. Luckily, his best friend’s mom overheard the conversation the next day as Number Two was telling his buddy, “So if Santa’s gifts show up wrapped in that paper, we’ll know.”

We bought a new roll of different paper the other day. Ha! Take that, pal. Score one for Team North Pole.

Last night I was helping my wife wrap the gifts from Santa with the new paper. By helping I of course mean I was on the couch watching TV and giving her moral support and occasional helpful tips. Santa had gotten two of the boys bow and arrow sets, and my wife was getting ready to just wrap them up in their factory packaging.

“Shouldn’t we remove them from the box?” I suggested helpfully.
“Why?” she asked, with an annoyed tone that I just frankly do not understand.
“Because it would look a lot more like an elf-produced toy if we did.”
“OK, maybe so, but all the Legos say ‘Lego’ all over them.”
“Yeah, I told them a few years ago that Santa has an official licensing agreement with Lego.”
“Well played. Do you really think we need to unbox these, though? There’s so many zip ties.”
“I’m just saying. Son Number One is eleven. He might start noticing this kind of thing.”
“OK, are you planning on helping at all?”
“I just did, honey. You’re welcome... honey, holding scissors like that is unsafe... honey!”

The truth is, I’m not sure Son Number One would notice that kind of thing. Or he would simply choose to ignore it. He’s certainly getting a lot of pressure to ask questions from his fellow fifth-graders, but he remains loyal to Kris Kringle. I’m sure he’s in the minority of kids his age who still think a magical jolly fat man performs a flawless B&E on every single house in the world in less than twelve hours.

“A girl in my class doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, but she believes in unicorns.”
“Well, son. I’m not sure what to tell either of you, then.”

So far, so good, though, but we had a major hiccup on the parental side of the standoff this year at the family Christmas party. The boys already “know” that not every Santa at the mall is the real Santa – they are Santa’s helpers, hired by the big man himself, so he can stay at the North Pole and supervise the elf toy production. I swear, kids will believe anything as long as they’re getting presents. Anyway, at the last minute I had to step into the big red suit and be Santa for the kids at the party.

Hmm... Can’t disappoint the other kids and not have a Santa, but this is really going to throw a wrench at our story. Our boys will definitely know it’s me...

That voice sounds familiar... and why does Santa’s breath smell like smoked meat and craft beer? That’s what Daddy’s smells like. Hey, wait a minute...

*beard gets pulled down, little children crying*

We needed to avoid that.

“Huddle up, boys. We’ve got a problem. Santa just called and told us his helper who was supposed to be here tonight got stuck in traffic on the 101 and can’t make it. Santa asked me to fill in, and sent the suit and beard over via Amazon Prime. The UPS guy just delivered them. So you guys need to do an amazing job of pretending for all these little kids who don’t know about the whole Santa’s helper thing, OK?”

“No problem, dad. It’s so cool that you got to talk to Santa on the phone!”
“Yep.”

Not one of them asked to see the Caller ID. Booyah! Chalk another year up for Team North Pole.

Merry Christmas,

-Smidge


Copyright © 2015 Marc Schmatjen


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