C1 Fraud.

Oh. My. Fucking. Gahhhh… “Ma’am, I need you to get the hell out of my store.”

The manager of Big Daddy’s Naughty Secrets pointed to the exit. “Please don’t make me call the police.” “I think you should call them.” I crossed my arms.

“That way, I can explain how someone on your staff has been stealing from me and you’re not doing a single thing about it.”

He gave me a blank stare, extending our hour-long stalemate to two. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Saturday afternoon, but I refused to leave without getting answers.

“I have the statements to prove this.” I motioned for him to look at the paper I’d slammed onto the counter seconds ago.

“I’ve never bought any of these toys, and I really need my money back.”

He picked up the sheet, running his finger along a few of the lines I’d underlined in red. “Looks like you buy a lot of lingerie at Victoria’s Secret.”

“Those are the legitimate charges. That’s why they’re in green.” “Right … ” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s see these others.”

waited for him to address the three hundred dollar charge for the ‘Pleasure Me, Daddy’ collection, the eighty-five dollar one for “Cuckold Galore,” or any of the fifty-dollar charges for a penis enhancement pill.

“Okay. Look, Miss.” He set down the sheet, shrugging. “Like I told you before, this is an issue between you and your credit card company.” “Well, they seem to think differently,” I said, pleading.

“I honestly never knew this store existed before these charges appeared, so there’s no way I could’ve bought this stuff, you know? Maybe it’s identity theft.” “Okay, then.” He smiled. “So, you want me to give you the benefit of the doubt, and accept that you’re telling the truth. Then, I’m assuming that you want me to refund you nine hundred dollars—getting none of my products back, and call it a day?” “Yes.” I nodded. “I promise to leave you a five-star Yelp review the moment I get out of here. I’ll also tell everyone that you didn’t penalize me for an obvious case of stolen identity.” “Oh, okay.”

He crossed his hands. “Security!” “What?” I sucked in a breath. “I thought we were on the same page.” “You’re out of your goddamn mind, lady.” He called out again. “Security!”

A beefy, uniformed guard emerged from the sex doll aisle, but I didn’t wait for him to give me a perp walk.

Instead, I grabbed the statement and stormed out. I rushed to my car and locked the door, beating my hands against the steering wheel in utter frustration. In the grand scheme of things, e purchases at this store were a drop in the bucket compared to the thousands that some anonymous jerk had spent at Pornhub.com, OnlyFans, and Big Booty Club. Still, I struggled with the idea of paying back credit I never used. Unsure of what to do next, I thought about the top four things my late mother always suggested whenever she encountered problems with her refunds.

1. Call in a bomb threat and rob the register before the police arrive.

2. Call the store a million mes with burner phones and jam the phone lines until they give in to your demands.

3. Send firm (but slightly threatening) emails.

4. Write a scathing Facebook post. I seriously considered the bomb threat.

It was the quickest way to get my money back, but I realized my aging car would never let me speed away fast enough. I settled for the American Express Credit Card Facebook page and clicked one-star before venting my frustrations on their public wall.harlow McGuire —> American Express Credit Card Dear American Express, Since all the people via your phone lines have refused to help me, this is my last resort.

For the umpteenth time, I did NOT purchase a “flesh-light, a PornHub subscription, or any “dental dam” products. (I also don’t understand why there is a Netflix charge on my bill since everyone I know uses my best friend’s account/password, but I digress.) These are fraudulent charges, and I would like my credit back ASAP. would hate to take this to Twitter, but I will if you don’t help. I’m sure other dissatisfied customers would love nothing more than to EXPOSE & DRAG you for the assholes that you are. Harlow McGuire To my surprise, someone on their staff responded to my post within minutes.

American Express —> Harlow McGuire Hello (Again) Miss McGuire, by “people who have refused to help [you],” you’re implying that we won’t reverse the charges, you are quite correct. According to our records, these purchases have been a consistent pattern since February of this year. There is no fraud here. You bought the products, received them, and…You’re clearly enjoying them. Feel free to “EXPOSE” & “DRAG” us on Twitter as much as you’d like. (Be sure to include the part about stealing from Netflix. We’re sure they’ll be thrilled to hear that.)we look forward to receiving your monthly payment on the 15th. American Express.

I screamed bloody murder as I read their response. I’d been so immersed in my soul-crushing internship and falling in love with my study partner, Dave, that I hadn’t opened my credit card statements in months. Besides, all I ever charged were Ramen noodles, sweatshirts, and Kindle Unlimited. Okay, maybe an occasional erotic audiobook as well, but that was it. It wasn’t until the card was declined at the dollar store this week that I realized something was amiss. Feeling defeated, I called my best friend, Chelsea.

“Hello to the ‘most massive of massive’ best friends,” she answered on the first ring.

“You really have to stop using that phrase, Chels,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“In that case, hello to the bestie who got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m calling because I need a raincheck on girls Night with you and Farrah tonight.” “What? Why?”

“Because I’m already at my limit, thanks to the sneaky bastard who keeps using my credit card. I’ll have to cancel the account today and hope they won’t send me to collections.” “I’m so sorry.” She sighed. “Wait, you know what? There was this guy in my tech class who used to do some black-hat stuff to dox scam artists for fun. If you send me a picture of your statement, I’ll text your number to him and ask if he can figure out something.”

“Yes, please.” I snapped a picture and sent it to her. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” she said. “He typically takes a week to get back to people, so be patient. In the meantime, do you want me to bring you parmesan chicken or parmesan pasta back from the bar?”

“Parmesan pasta.” “Will do.” She ended the call, and I cranked my engine.

Before I could pull out of the parking lot, a text from an unknown number popped onto my screen.

555-976-9087: Seriously? This was easy. You could’ve doxed this guy’s IP address yourself: 786 University Avenue Wayward Dorm, West Campus.

555-976-9087:If you cash app me an extra $50, I’ll give you the guy’s name. Send me a tit pic, and I’ll discount it to $30.

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t need him to give me anything else. I already knew who lived at that address. Chelsea's ‘I don’t talk to anyone in the family anymore’ younger brother, Tyler. What the hell?