By Hannah Reich Berman
When I was growing up, many of my friends had pen pals. I had one. I no longer remember her name or where she lived, but I do remember the thrill of coming home from school and finding her letter waiting for me. It did not matter that she was a stranger who lived halfway around the world. What did matter was that I had a new friend. The fact that we were unlikely ever to meet was also of no consequence. We exchanged snapshots of ourselves. Very often, these pictures were blurry but we did not care. We were happy to receive them. This long-distance correspondence was short-lived because, after a while, one, or both, of us, got tired of the nonsense, stopped writing, and never exchanged another letter.
Back then we labored under the assumption that writing to a total stranger was something only kids did since we had never heard of adults who did that. As far as I know, the only people my parents ever wrote to were relatives living in Israel. But it turns out that there are some adults who engage in this activity. Some folks write to soldiers. This is something I can understand. But others write to prisoners. Feel free to call me insensitive, but, frankly speaking, that is an activity I cannot relate to. I do not see myself corresponding with someone behind bars.
Note: Pen pals aside, there is also something known as PayPal. The sound is similar but PayPal is entirely different from pen pal.
Right now, all of this is coming back to me because, at the ripe old age of seventy plus years, I have recently acquired a new pen pal. I do not know the name of the person currently communicating with me, nor do I have a picture of him or her! I did not write first, nor was I overjoyed to receive the letter in the first place. Actually, what came in the mail was more of a notice than a letter. It was sent by my insurance company which wished to alert me to the fact that a check had been sent to me but that I had never cashed it. The company wants me to cash it. I have absolutely no clue what they are referring to since I do not remember receiving this check. So I did what I usually do when I am confused: I tore up the notice, tossed it away, and figured that was the end of it. Had the amount of money been significant, I might have investigated further. But the notice specified that the check was for a grand total of—drumroll, please—five dollars! I would not normally throw out a five-spot but, as I have no idea whether or not I cashed the first one, it was not worth my time to respond. I would live without the five dollars that is supposedly due me.
After having received numerous notices in the past year, I asked my trusted insurance broker how to put a stop to it. His advice was to just ignore it. The advice was sensible so I followed it. But it did not work. The notices keep coming. It has been almost a year since I received the first one, and thus far I have received six of them. Each one is a printed form letter containing multiple responses, and I am expected to check the response that applies. It reminds me of those multiple-choice quizzes that I used to take in school. I hated them then and I hate them still. I often felt that none of the choices were correct and in this case it is pretty much the same scenario. Nothing seems to apply. The choices offered are as follows: I lost the check; I cashed the check; I never received the check; I feel that the amount of the check is incorrect; yada, yada, yada. None of the options work for me. The most recent notice that I received came with another five-dollar check, and I could probably put an end to all these notices by simply cashing the check. But I fear doing that because the notices include a warning that if I cash a check that is sent to me and it is later discovered that I had cashed the first one, it would be considered fraud. Great to hear!
Wanting to put an end to this meshugas, I ignored my broker’s suggestion and wrote to these clowns. I explained that they can keep their five dollars and that I cannot check any of the responses nor will I cash the latest check. I thought that would be the end of it. It was not. As I should have expected, in this automated world of ours, we do not often get to deal with human beings. These notices are computer-generated. It is doubtful that anyone read my letter of explanation, so chances are that my plea to have the company stop sending a check to me has never been seen by a living soul. Therefore, I continue to receive notices. Some of them are accompanied by a check. I tried calling the company but that elicited the same result as did writing a letter of explanation. Until this very day, I have not managed to connect with a human. Apparently, only computers work at this outfit, which makes me wonder exactly who cashes the monthly-premium checks I send in.
Today I received yet another five-dollar check and, once again, I will not cash it on the outside chance that I did cash the original one and so could be charged with fraud. I might actually end up in jail wearing a prison-issued orange jumpsuit. That would not work for me. For starters, I do not look good in a jumpsuit and, secondly, orange is not my best color. Being a large person, I would probably resemble the great Halloween pumpkin.
It appears that this may be a correspondence that will far outlast the one I had with my childhood pen pal. There are some differences. In this instance, we do not exchange photos nor do I know the name of the person (if there is a person) who is writing to me. The notices keep coming and I continue to ignore them. I could end the whole thing by cashing the check, but I refuse to take the risk. Why gamble on five dollars? Even if I did not ultimately get sent to prison for fraud, I might have to pay a stiff fine.
There is, however, a positive side to everything in life, and I did get something out of all this. I got an education; I now understand why my insurance premiums are so high. I am paying for wasted paper and postage! That’s just the way it is.
Hannah Berman lives in Woodmere and gives private small-group lessons in mah-jongg and canasta. She can be reached at Savtahannah@aol.com or 516-902-3733.