We finally got to the end of the three part series about getting to a destination wedding. Our ultimate destination to the destination, as it were. And as we described in last week’s blog, the actuality of the situation was that my wife and I changed into our rehearsal dinner clothes in a large gravel-strewn parking lot. It hurt standing on it and we also hoped and prayed nobody else drove up there while we were in our birthday suits. Nobody did, but in the end, when I was putting on my jacket, another couple DID drive up there. They had also gotten lost, but unlike us, they were already dressed.

Onto comic 2. The first in another 3-part series, this time about online “help.” Now why these things keep happening to me, as opposed to John, is a mystery to me. Unless John is not revealing the embarrassing missteps he must take. But this, this felt like a new low. As I was lying about our beach house this summer with my broken left ankle elevated, my wife asked me if I knew about this $249 yearly charge for the Best Buy Geek Squad. I didn't know, but in the back of my mind I might have signed up for it. I saw a phone number attached to the email, and since I was reliant on my wife for everything since I couldn’t walk, (can you get me an iced coffee dear, oh, not so much ice, good, and a little more coffee, good and would you mind putting in some half and half?) Anyway, there was a phone number attached to the email and I promptly called it, after saying heroically (at least in my mind) “Don’t worry dear, I’ll handle it!” Famous last words. I made the call and got a guy from Bangalore on the phone, wanting ro be my friend who will rescue me from the evil jaws of Best Buy. He asked if I was sitting in front of a computer and then he started to direct me to this website and that website and al leading to getting me a refund. Now I will admit I was starting to get suspicious, but then again, he said I had been charged for two years and he was helping me get my $500 back. One of the sites he led me to said “Best Buy Return Site,” so yeah, I fell for it. After much back and forth, he said he sent me the $500 to my bank. Would I please check my checking account to make sure the deposit was made. If I was thinking, I would have thought, how would he even know where to send the money? He doesn't have my account info. And when I checked Citibank, it finally hit me, Oh my god, I just let him into my bank account. At this moment, I told him (in the most gentle way possible) “F^#k you hacker!” and hung up. I went to shut off my computer and that’s when I saw my cursor wasn’t cooperating. Panicked, I now unplugged the computer, turned off the internet router (my wife was working and that messed her up as well) and got off my chair and started rapidly walking to her office (in our apartment). That’s when I remembered, oh no, I’m not supposed to walk and walked back to my knee stroller to enable myself to get to her and warn her. It’s all a happy ending, we reacted quickly enough so the hackers got nothing, but I did have to spend the next couple days online with help desks from the bank, from Apple and others. I recalled all this to John and it left us with this question, why do they call help desks, help desks? What exactly do they do to help? Do you even get a chance to speak with a human? It’s enough to make you tear your hair out, but fortunately for me, I don’t have much hair. But it led us to this 3-part series, so there’s always that. Follow Al in his journey as he gets all the help the help desk can deliver.

One further note of help. After explaining this whole incident to John he just said, when you get one of these emails, just check out the address of the sender. When you see it’s not from Best Buy, but from Dave120.6, you know it’s a scam.

See you next week and in the meantime, have a beautiful, scam-free weekend.

Andy and John