DAHLINGS –
My deepest apologies, once again, for letting life get in the way of this blog-thing. As you know, in my last entry, I was reflecting upon Karma after my (ugh) Ebay account was hacked. And then I received the invitation to Ebay In Person. It was in the last week of September.
It was at a tres’ luxurious hotel on the East Side in midtown Manhattan. As we walked in we were handed little notebooks with Ebay on the front and pens that said Ebay. Inside the large conference room was a large buffet, set with food and drink that my seller’s fees were paying for. Of course I wore a stunning 50s blue and black brocade dress and carried Bucky with me. The various Ebay personnel wore name badges and fixed smiles as they greeted us. I nodded politely, ate some expensive hors-deouvres, and mingled as best I could. It seemed that most of the attendees were buyers, and a few part-time sellers. Waiters bearing more expensive nibbles circulated among the crowd. I speared some sweet and sour chicken for Bucky, and a small beef burrito for myself.
An avuncular bearded type who called himself Griff was the subject of much adulation—apparently he has a radio show on Ebay. He bore a remarkable resemblance to that fellow who used to do the oatmeal commercials, what was his name—Wilfred something-or-other. Apparently he wanted us to call him “Uncle Griff.” I suppressed a sneer. I’ve never understood the need that some people have to be thought of as Uncle This or Grandma That…don’t they have their own relatives to annoy?
After what seemed an endless cocktail party without cocktails, we were all seated at round tables for the Question and Answer session with the various Ebay staff members. Their clothes—black shirts with “Ebay” on them and pants—made both the men and women look oddly like male Mormons.
“Uncle Griff” was in charge of the Q&A, running through the crowd to hand off the microphone to various audience members. “Spotters” around the room selected who would ask a question. I managed to give the spotter near me a seductive look and indicated that I wanted to ask a question. When other audience members posed their questions, the only description that applies is that they were given word for word the same canned answers that we received in emails, but now earnestly delivered in person.
(It crossed my mind that Ebay might actually be a cult..)
When it was my turn, I stood up holding Bucky, which really got the cameras going. I smiled as if unsalted butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, praised Paypal’s Resolution Center, thanked them for moving Reproductions in Vintage, and then asked:
“Earlier this week hundreds of Ebay accounts were hacked. Their names, IDs, and credit card info were on the Trust and Safety Board. When I went to look, the board had been taken down. My ID, which I treasure, which is integral to my good name, had been hacked. When I called the credit card company, they said the initial charges were coming through Ebay. What do you intend to do about this, may one ask?"
The gentleman in charge of Trust and Safety looked gravely at me. He replied that most of their action was being taken on the security side on prevention, that it was hard to keep ahead of the scammers. However, “we’re leading the industry in that area.” Oh? As far as one could discern, the only institution that had fewer leaks than Ebay was the government.
The endless Q&A went on. Some of the answers seemed to be outright lies, if only from anecdotal experience, and the rest was personably impersonal. I lost interest, and took Bucky and self for a short stroll. When I returned, it was almost over.
I sat back down in my chair, we applauded dutifully, and the Ebay employees stepped off the podium. The gentleman in charge of Trust And Safety pulled up a chair next to me.
In a voice that suggested that he was speaking to a small, idiotic child, he asked me to describe the whole experience in great detail. So I did. The gentleman took notes.
He gave me an enormous smile and said, “Elisa, there are people out there who want to make Ebay look bad. This didn’t come from Ebay.”
I did not correct his familiarity in using my first name, but retorted: “The charges came from Ebay. That’s what the credit card company told me.”
“No, they didn’t. They came from somewhere else.”
“That’s not what the credit card company said. The charges were from Ebay.”
“No, Elisa, they did not. You did everything right, changing your passwords and canceling your card. That was good thinking on your part, Elisa! We’re going to be issuing a press release about it in a few days.”
To be honest, I was afraid he was going to pat my knee, and then I was going to have to tell Bucky to attack him. However, with a reassuring nod, he closed his notepad and moved on to another poor soul.
The audience was filing out into the unseasonably hot September night, and that's when I saw her. If only because she was wearing a garment completely unsuited to the weather.
A vintage cheetah coat with otter collar and CUFFS!
"Stop that woman!" I cried, but it was too late. She had slipped out of the double doors and into the night.
A few days later, I received a follow-up email, informing me that Ebay is one of the safest sites on the Internet. Hmmmmph.
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog
Showing posts with label credit card theft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label credit card theft. Show all posts
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Karma Strikes...In The Form of Ebay!
DAHLINGS –
As faithful readers of this blog-thing know, my dear dead friend Lana Turner came to me to warn me that something called “Karma” was about to strike. And strike it did!
The morning after Lana’s visitation, I breakfasted, washed, dressed in a new wisp of chiffon and went into my office without a care in the world. I fully intended to write about my lovely evening at Te Casan, a simply marvelous shoe store, for a book signing event.
There I found my new assistant cowering in front of the computer. Her face was as white as a sheet of copy paper.
“What is it now?” I demanded.
“I—I—don’t know how to tell you,” she responded, flinching. “But your Ebay account—somebody hacked it! I knew these weren’t phony emails, so I checked your account, and someone has hacked into it!”
“MOVE!” I said, and pushed her out of the way so that I could sit at the computer. It was but the work of the moment to pull up my email, and see notices that said “Verification of new account with Ebay--credit card on file”. And indeed, they had originated from my (ugh) Ebay account. My heart in my throat, I called the credit card that was attached to the account.
The credit card representative looked into my record, and oui, several small charges had come through Ebay (these are small amounts debited from your card to set up new IDs)! Not only that, the hacker had gone on to max out my credit card in less than 24 hours! And my credit limit is higher than the national debt!
As I sat, gasping with shock, the representative read me the details and I discovered the worst part of it all.
The fiend had used my credit card to buy…vintage.
And not just any vintage! A cheetah coat with collar and cuffs made from otter by Christian Dior from 1967! Two Fortuny gowns! A Jean Louis original evening gown from the 1950s. Mountains of Adrian from his retail line! A dress on sale from Liza Minelli’s collection! A Paul Poiret tea gown! A Claire McCardell “popover” dress in wool! Vintage Oscar de la Renta!
Whoever it was knew my taste, and knew exactly what I had been looking at recently, and where.
(Save for the Liza Minelli dress. Donnez-moi une coupure.)
A wail of anguish broke from my throat, and I fell back in my chair, sobbing. The credit card company had not thought to contact me because I am wont to buy high end vintage for my personal collection on a regular basis. The company could not refund such an enormous loss, only a small part of it. That didn’t matter, it’s only money, but the vintage—
THE VINTAGE THAT I WOULD NEVER OWN!
Suddenly, I heard Lana’s voice in my head: "...as we used to say, what goes around, comes around. And oh, boy, do you have it coming around!"
She was right. Not only was it time to cancel my credit card and change all of my passwords, it was time to start treating the help better. It went against my basic nature, but there it was.
I looked over at my assistant, who had backed up against the wall so hard it looked like she would disappear into the flowered wallpaper. Although it choked me to say it, I said:
“It’s not your fault, my dear, so put it out of your mind. It is my problem and I have to solve it by myself. Please sit down on the divan, you look like you’re going to faint.”
“You’re—you’re not going to scream at me? Throw anything at me? Push me over?” There was disbelief in her tone.
I forced a smile. “No, there won't be any of that any more. I’ve had a warning…somewhat like Marley’s ghost, only shapelier. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? It will take me forever to straighten out this mess.”
After my assistant had left, I pondered what Lana had told me. It had indeed come to pass…it was the Jean Louis that hurt the most.
And, in all candor, my assistant was wearing a hideous ersatz 1970s chartreuse print dress from Strawberry, and I was deeply grateful that I did not have to look at it for the rest of the day.
But even worse was to come…at “Ebay In Person”.
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog
As faithful readers of this blog-thing know, my dear dead friend Lana Turner came to me to warn me that something called “Karma” was about to strike. And strike it did!
The morning after Lana’s visitation, I breakfasted, washed, dressed in a new wisp of chiffon and went into my office without a care in the world. I fully intended to write about my lovely evening at Te Casan, a simply marvelous shoe store, for a book signing event.
There I found my new assistant cowering in front of the computer. Her face was as white as a sheet of copy paper.
“What is it now?” I demanded.
“I—I—don’t know how to tell you,” she responded, flinching. “But your Ebay account—somebody hacked it! I knew these weren’t phony emails, so I checked your account, and someone has hacked into it!”
“MOVE!” I said, and pushed her out of the way so that I could sit at the computer. It was but the work of the moment to pull up my email, and see notices that said “Verification of new account with Ebay--credit card on file”. And indeed, they had originated from my (ugh) Ebay account. My heart in my throat, I called the credit card that was attached to the account.
The credit card representative looked into my record, and oui, several small charges had come through Ebay (these are small amounts debited from your card to set up new IDs)! Not only that, the hacker had gone on to max out my credit card in less than 24 hours! And my credit limit is higher than the national debt!
As I sat, gasping with shock, the representative read me the details and I discovered the worst part of it all.
The fiend had used my credit card to buy…vintage.
And not just any vintage! A cheetah coat with collar and cuffs made from otter by Christian Dior from 1967! Two Fortuny gowns! A Jean Louis original evening gown from the 1950s. Mountains of Adrian from his retail line! A dress on sale from Liza Minelli’s collection! A Paul Poiret tea gown! A Claire McCardell “popover” dress in wool! Vintage Oscar de la Renta!
Whoever it was knew my taste, and knew exactly what I had been looking at recently, and where.
(Save for the Liza Minelli dress. Donnez-moi une coupure.)
A wail of anguish broke from my throat, and I fell back in my chair, sobbing. The credit card company had not thought to contact me because I am wont to buy high end vintage for my personal collection on a regular basis. The company could not refund such an enormous loss, only a small part of it. That didn’t matter, it’s only money, but the vintage—
THE VINTAGE THAT I WOULD NEVER OWN!
Suddenly, I heard Lana’s voice in my head: "...as we used to say, what goes around, comes around. And oh, boy, do you have it coming around!"
She was right. Not only was it time to cancel my credit card and change all of my passwords, it was time to start treating the help better. It went against my basic nature, but there it was.
I looked over at my assistant, who had backed up against the wall so hard it looked like she would disappear into the flowered wallpaper. Although it choked me to say it, I said:
“It’s not your fault, my dear, so put it out of your mind. It is my problem and I have to solve it by myself. Please sit down on the divan, you look like you’re going to faint.”
“You’re—you’re not going to scream at me? Throw anything at me? Push me over?” There was disbelief in her tone.
I forced a smile. “No, there won't be any of that any more. I’ve had a warning…somewhat like Marley’s ghost, only shapelier. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? It will take me forever to straighten out this mess.”
After my assistant had left, I pondered what Lana had told me. It had indeed come to pass…it was the Jean Louis that hurt the most.
And, in all candor, my assistant was wearing a hideous ersatz 1970s chartreuse print dress from Strawberry, and I was deeply grateful that I did not have to look at it for the rest of the day.
But even worse was to come…at “Ebay In Person”.
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog
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