As of today, I have a total credit card balance of $8,772.16. That's too much, but it could be worse. It has been worse, actually -- when I moved to Denver at the end of 1999, I had over $14,000 in credit card debt.

I acquired most of that debt while living in San Francisco in 1999. If you're ever tempted to move to San Francisco, the beautiful city of cable cars and fog rolling off the Bay and bike rides to Marin Country across the Golden Gate Bridge, you need to resist that temptation unless you have a trust fund and/or the ability to shit gold nuggets. Alternatively, you can work 70 hours a week in a cheese steak shop and an all-night diner to pay the absurdly high rent on your tiny room with the sink in the corner and the bathroom and refrigerator in the hallway. If you need some cheering up while eating generic raisin bran for dinner, go find Jill, the Shirley Manson wannabe who works at a coffee shop in the Mission. She's easy.

Here's the stupid thing about my credit card debt: I can't remember what most of it was for. I can't say, "Sure, I have $14,000 in unsecured debt, but look at this big-screen TV!" or "Maybe I'll never own my own home, but at least I spent a week in Vegas eating prime rib and shacking up with high-class hookers!" Oh, I remember charging a few meals, and a couple of Giants games, and sometimes groceries and cash advances for rent, and I charged my bicycle that got stolen when I forgot to bring it in at night (the thieves not only picked the Kryptonite U-lock and took the bike -- they re-locked the lock around the street sign and left it there as if to say, "That's what we think of that weak shit"). But really I have nothing to show for the money I blew except a damaged credit rating and thousands of dollars out the bunghole for interest charges.

I hate credit card companies. You have to watch them closer than my Uncle Earl watches the neighborhood kids get on the school bus. This is especially true if you have a credit card with Bank of America. I got my Bank of America credit card statement recently and was less than delighted to find two mysterious charges for $89.99 each, listed as "BAC COMPLETHME" and "BAC PrivacySource," neither of which I had authorized. I called Bank of America and talked to a very nice young lady who explained that the charges were for services sold by "partners" of Bank of America. I could cancel the services and get the charges refunded to my card, she said, and gave me two toll-free numbers to call.

Let's pause for a moment and imagine how this all went down:

BANK OF AMERICA: Howdy, "partners"! What can I do for you today?

"PARTNERS": We've been poring over your customer files, and it appears that Kilgore Trout is in urgent need of our CompleteHome and PrivacySource services.

BOA: It is not possible for me to be in more complete agreement with you on that particular point! But what can Bank of America do to fulfill Kilgore Trout's needs in this instance?

"P": We were thinking along the lines of you just sticking the service fees on his charge account.

BOA: But CompleteHome and PrivacySource are such fine and useful services, certainly they will cost Kilgore Trout many thousands of dollars! Shouldn't we consult him first and find out if he is willing to pay the fees in exchange for the services?

"P": Ordinarily, such restraint would be appropriate. However, in this case, our experts have assured us that without the CompleteHome and PrivacySource services, Kilgore Trout will die before the New Year. In light of this pressing need, we have lowered the prices of our services to the emergency rate of $89.99 apiece.

BOA: Plus applicable finance charges as specified in Kilgore Trout's credit card agreement, of course! But still -- a mere trifle! We will place the charges on his account immediately!

"P": You, sir, are a hero. We expect you will receive a thank you call or perhaps even a fruit basket from Kilgore Trout as soon as he receives his credit card statement.

BOA: Unless he's like many people, and doesn't examine his credit card statement very closely, in which case he will never know he spent $179.98 plus interest for the CompleteHome and PrivacySource services!

"P": That is the risk you take for saving a man's life.

If anyone can explain how this is distinguishable from "fraud" or "theft," please leave a note in the comments.

I called the CompleteHome number first, and talked to a lady who read from a script about how I would benefit by using the CompleteHome service. The problem was that she explained it in a heavy Caribbean accent, and I couldn't understand anything except "Wal-Mart." I don't shop at Wal-Mart, so I asked her to cancel the service, and after token resistance she agreed to do so.

I called the PrivacySource number next, and talked to Justin. I couldn't pinpoint Justin's accent -- it wasn't Caribbean -- but it led me to picture him with a mullet, a rusted-out Trans Am, and tickets to Wrestlemania. Justin fought hard to keep me in the PrivacySource fold:

"Well, sir, uh... what PrivacySource does is, you know, it protects your credit. Uh... like every six seconds someone's identity gets stolen? Sheesh, you know, you work hard to build your credit, like, I'd want to protect that, you know?"

I listened politely until Justin finished reading his script, and then asked him to cancel the service, and after token resistance he agreed to do so.

When I got home, I found a postcard in my mailbox from a survey company hired by Bank of America, inviting me to take an online customer service survey. Oh, the delicious irony! You will not be surprised to learn that I logged on immediately and gave it to Bank of America all the way up to my elbow, without any lube or anything.

Does anyone know who's offering good transfer rates these days?

+posted by Lawrence @ 11/16/2004 11:55:00 PM