Mussels, cockles, and a whole red snapper are wrapped up and ready to go, so I reach for my credit card. Uh-oh. Other pocket? No, no. I must have left it in that little trinket shop; when my card wouldn’t tap or scan, the young woman asked me to insert it into a device and I left it there. Duh!
So I rush back to the trinket shop and she hands me the card and we joke about my absent-mindedness and I rush back to the fish store where not only is my red snapper on ice, but, as it turns out, my credit card too.
“Rejected,” says Tony the fishmonger.
“Rejected? You sure?”
“Yep, you’ve been rejected.”
“I just used it 20 minutes ago and it was fine.”
“I’ll try it again. Hmm. Rejected. Maybe you should call American Express.”
“This call may be recorded and monitored and analyzed to improve the service.”
One is filled with confidence. Amex has been doing this for over 100 years and they’re still trying to improve their service. The harp-heavy music is a nice touch.
In order to speak to a representative, instructs the prompt bot, I have to click in my 10-digit card number, my password, the last four numbers of my Social Security, and a one-time text sent to my phone. The onslaught of clicks is too much for one poor bot to handle, so we go through them a few times. Without success.
When the bot tells me precious time could be saved by going online, I tell the bot I am standing in a fish market and fish is perishable and I would like to speak to a human person ASAP. In order to direct my call to the right department, the bot demands the purpose of the call: We settle on Lost, Stolen, Fraud.
After five minutes of harp music, Michelle, a real live rep, needs the same information again: card number, password, Social Security, four-digit code.
“Your card was lost and invalidated,” says Michelle.
“I have the card right here in my hand,” I say.
“No, you called in and said your card was lost.”
“No, this is my first call to Amex, and I got the number from the back of my card, which I am looking at right now.”
“Well, someone called in and said your card had been lost or found.”
“Which one? Lost or found?”
“We invalidated your card for your own protection.”
“Protection from what? Red snapper or mussels?”
“Company policy dictates invalidation when lost or found.”
“Who called in?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“But it’s my card. How can someone else cancel my card?”
“I see here that you have been a cardholder for 31 years, and American Express would like to thank you for your loyalty.”
“This is some thank-you, Michelle. You just canceled my card.”
“For your own protection, Mr. Bushel.”
“Boo-shell. Now that you know I have my card in my possession — and Tony here, the fishmonger, can be my witness — can you revalidate or uninvalidate my card, please?”
“Don’t get me involved in this,” says Tony.
“Once invalidated, forever invalidated,” says Michelle.
“But it was invalidated only five minutes ago,” I say.
“American Express works very fast. We are American Express.”
“How did the caller get through? Did she know my Social Security number and password and mother’s maiden name?”
“I am not at liberty to speak about the caller. Someone reported your card lost, found, or stolen, Mr. Bushel.”
“Boo-shell.”
“Sorry. Boo-shell.”
“Let me get this straight, Michelle: Although I have been a cardholder for 31 years, I had to go through an intense interrogation before I could ask a single question about my own Amex account, and anyone in the world who knows my name and card number — any restaurant server or CVS clerk or plumber — can call in and cancel my card.”
“I can’t talk about theft or fraud.”
“There was no theft. There was no fraud. No lost, no stolen. There was a young woman at a trinket shop on Main Street in Bridgehampton who had a trigger finger and no patience and she called Amex and you canceled my card without asking or notifying the cardholder, me.”
“We sent you an email.”
“What did it say?”
“I’m not at liberty to say what it said.”
“I know what it said, Michelle. It said nothing. Know how I know? Because you never sent me an email. I have my phone in my hand and I have no emails from American Express — just one text with a one-time secret code. You can ask Tony.”
“Don’t get me involved in this,” says Tony.
“I’ll look into that oversight, Mr. Bushel. Anything else I can help you with today?”
“Boo-shell.”
Tony motions for me to move away from the counter so other customers can pay for their fish with their valid credit cards.
“Would you like to order a replacement card, Mr. Boo-shell?”
“I suppose I have no choice. How long will that take?”
“Seven to 10 days, but no guarantee.”
“Seven to 10 days! I thought American Express was fast.”
“That’s our policy. Seven to 10 days. No guarantee.”
“It’s 2025, Michelle. How can it take 10 days to delivery an envelope?”
“I don’t write our policy, but I am sure there is a good reason.”
“And I am sure FedEx has overnight delivery and the U.S. Postal System has special delivery and the Pony Express could get a card here faster than 10 days.”
“Would you like an expedited delivery?”
“Expedited delivery? Now we’re talking.”
“It costs 10 dollars.”
“Costs who 10 dollars?”
“You.”
“Me? American Express is charging me 10 dollars to deliver a new card that I shouldn’t need in the first place?”
“It’ll still be between seven and 10 days.”
“Where’s the expedited part come into play?”
“To make sure it arrives within seven to 10 days.”
“Talk about nickel-and-diming your valued customers.”
“Could you please verify your home address?”
“609 Atlantis Drive . . .”
“That’s not your correct address.”
“I know where I live, Michelle.”
“That’s not the address we have on file.”
“Bridgehampton does not have home mail delivery, so my home address and mailing address are not the same.”
“That’s not the correct address. We cannot mail a card to that address.”
“Don’t take this personally, Michelle, but I’d like to speak to someone else, your supervisor perhaps.”
“Hold on, please. It’ll be a few seconds.”
Harping music for 11 minutes.
“Mr. Bushel?”
”Boo-shell. Yes.”
“My name is Jeffrey. I want to thank you for being a valued American Express customer for 31 years. What can I do for you today?”
“Please believe me when I say I know where I live.”
“Let’s back up. It says here we invalidated your card today.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Because there were signs of identity theft.”
“Identity theft? What signs?”
“I am not liberty to divulge that information. But your card was invalidated to protect your identity.”
“I think I’m losing my identity right now. This is a whole new story, Jeffrey. The last representative said my card was reported lost or found.”
“Well, I’m telling you that there were strong indications that someone was trying to steal your identity, and we thwarted that unfortunate occurrence by canceling your card. What can I do for you now?”
“We were working on my home address, the place where you’re sending my replacement card.”
“What is your home address, please?”
“609 Atlantis Drive . . .”
“I’m sorry, but I have a different address.”
“You must be looking at my mailing address. I know where I live, Jeff. You should know where I live too. You’ve been sending me bills here for 31 years. And I have paid them all. You can look it up.”
“Give me just a minute to check your address. Hold on, please.”
Harping music for 13 minutes.
“Mr. Bushel?”
”Boo-shell.”
“I found your home address. Is it 609 Atlantis Drive?”
“Yes. Where did you find it?”
“I am not at liberty to say. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
“How will you be sending my new card?”
“UPS.”
“Please indicate that no signature is needed. I’ll probably be at work, not at home.”
“American Express has no control over signatures. That’s up to the driver.”
“Jeffrey. Please. How would the driver know the contents of the envelope or the package or the age of the recipient? That’s up to the sender, not the driver.”
“It’s the driver’s prerogative if they want you to sign or not.”
“You really think Mr. Bezos leaves it up to his drivers? Or Cartier’s? Or wine.com?”
“American Express has no control over any signatures.”
“Apparently American Express has no control over what their representatives say. May I speak to someone else, Jeffrey?”
“Hold on, please. It’ll be a couple minutes.”
Harping music for 15 vindictive minutes.
“Hello, Mr. Bushel?”
”Boo-shell.”
“My name is Elizabeth. How are you today?”
“I think you know how I am, Elizabeth. You are my court of last resort. I may have to find a new credit card company.”
“Mr. Boo-shell, I am sorry for all the trouble you are experiencing. I see that you have been a loyal and valued customer of American Express for 31 years, so we would like to offer you a $100 credit on your next bill.”
“Say what?”
“A $100 credit.”
“That’s very nice of you, Elizabeth, but I wonder if you could credit me $50 and pay FedEx the other half to deliver my replacement card in less than 10 days, maybe overnight.”
“I’m sorry, we can’t do that. Company policy.”
“Do I still have to pay 10 dollars for expedited delivery?”
“Do you still want expedited delivery?”
“Tell you the truth, Elizabeth, I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you today, Mr. Bushel?”
“Boo-shell. Do you think a can of albacore tuna in water is a good substitute for red snapper or should I go with a can of Bumble Bee pink salmon?”
“Don’t get me involved in this,” says Tony.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I say to Tony.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Boo-shell?” says Elizabeth.
“Can I get a transcript of the recording of this phone call?”
“I’ll have to transfer you to another department. Please hold . . .”
Bruce Buschel is a writer who lives in Bridgehampton.