The horror; the horror......

Constant readers of this here blog, assuming there actually are any, will know we had our credit-card account number stolen a few weeks ago.
This is the second time this has happened, prompting our third account number.
We were apprised of this when the bank refused Linda’s attempt to buy groceries with our credit-card.
“Call bank,” it said.
She had to hit a nearby ATM to get cash.
The bank, Chase, had put a hold on our account because of suspicious activity.
Small online purchases to Napster; we never use Napster.
The suspect charges were refused, and previous charges transferred to a new account.
After waiting almost a week for our new cards, we now have a fraud claim to fill out.
We use our credit-card like a cash card; just about every purchase, and then pay off in full every month.
We don’t owe them a cent — no interest, no outta-sight credit balance.
Yet they think we’re wonderful customers; and we’ve been like that since 1969.
The only income they get from us is their annual fee.
So now we have this fraud claim to fill out.
Two transactions are already listed; one not ours, and only for a dollar.
Their loss is not worth their pursuing.
“What if there are other invalid transactions I should list?” I asked.
For that I need -a) their monthly snail-mail statement, or -b) their online statement.
The bank is crying for its fraud form, and that snail-mail statement may not show up for a week.
So fire up the ‘pyooter; try to hit our online statement.
Horror-of-horrors.
Used to be I hit that online statement every week, but then Chase burped and refused my password.
“Pick new password!” it shouted.
I set about trying to do this, but it kept getting more-and-more complicated.
Finally I gave up; figuring I didn’t need to monitor that account every week.
Setting up a new password is something I’d do some other time.
Months passed. The monstrous Chase password hairball kept getting shoved into the future.
But now Chase was crying for their fraud form, and threatening gloom-and-doom.
So, fire up Chase in my browser.
“Pick new password!” it blares. “Invalid password!”
And of course, I only get a few tries, lest their vaunted security throw a wrench into the whole kabosh.
I complete the first step of their procedure, click “next,” and watch the soccer-ball spin.
Minutes pass.
“We seem to be in some kind of abyss,” I say.
Force-quit browser; start over.
“Well, at least Chase has changed my e-mail address,” I say; “but ‘invalid password selection.’”
The drill is Chase sends you a numbered access-code (I chose e-mail, so I could copy/paste), which —A) throws up your account information, and —B) lets you start using your new password thereafter.
The usual dramas occurred beforehand: 1) Social Security number; 2) Name of your first dog; 3) Mother’s maiden-name.
All the passwords I tried came up invalid, but I guess every password I tried was one I’d used before.
Finally, I tried the old RTS badge-number of my immediate predecessor, Bob Douglas — I use my old RTS badge-number as my password on lotsa things.
VIOLA! Douglas’s badge-number worked.
In at last. (At least an hour.)

“Linda” is my wife of 41 years.

“‘Pyooter” is computer.

“Snail-mail” is U.S. Postal Service mail, as opposed to e-mail.

A “browser” is a computer software program for “browsing” the Internet.

RE : “Lest their vaunted security throw a wrench into the whole kabosh.....” —In my experience ya only get maybe three tries before a bank’s security software decides you’re some ne’er-do-well trying to steal an account. —After that, you no longer can do anything.

The “spinning soccer-ball” is the Apple Macintosh equivalent of Microsoft’s Windows hourglass. The icon looks like a soccer-ball rotating. (My computer is an Apple Macintosh.)

To “force-quit” is to force a hung computer application to quit — although just plain quitting may have worked. But my browser looked hung, so I “force-quit” it. (The hang may have been Chase.)

RE: “I guess every password I tried was one I’d used before.....” —Chase will not allow use of any your five previous passwords.

RE: “old RTS badge-number......” —RTS equals Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years. My “badge-number” was my employee-number. —Douglas was one position ahead of me in seniority, so his badge-number was one ahead of me.