An open letter to the person who stole my debit card information and attempted to purchase a motorcycle in the U.S. with it…
—
Hey there, stranger,
I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.
Well, you know a part of me. A financial part. A part that you thought might be useful to fulfil a certain desire for adventure. To tickle your bad boy side.
My bank informed me this morning that something looked fishy in my transaction history. They asked if I shopped at my local grocer, Amazon, and a coffee shop.
“Sounds like me,” I said.
They then asked if I attempted to purchase a motorcycle from the U.S. this morning.
“That is not something I’m known to do before noon,” I replied.
As a result, my debit card has been cancelled, and thus your attempted transaction. A new one will be posted to me tomorrow and available for pickup early next week.
I could be mad. I could choose to stomp my feet, huffing and puffing about my misfortunes.
Instead, I can only think of you, dear stranger, and what experiences I have denied you.
The rumble of the engine vibrating up through your bones.
The feeling of the wind whipping through your undoubtably greasy hair.
The admiration of that middle-aged woman you’ve been eying at the local dive bar.
“Nice hog,” you’ve heard her say in your dreams.
The warm rush of excitement would fill your body – a potent elixir made up of repressed sexual energy and a mid-life crisis. You’d look longingly at her across the parking lot. You’d rub shoulders at the bar as you ordered another round of Natural Light. She’d say yes to your request for a second date at Hooters.
This was your heaven. Your Nirvana. Your land of milk and honey.
And I’ve taken that away from you.
Your aura is not that of a Harley Davidson.
No.
Because of effective fraud protection, your aura is condemned to that of your beat up 1999 Honda Civic.
I will do my best to move on from denying you such pleasures, stranger. Know that if I did not have to feed, clothe, and bathe myself with the funds you attempted to steal, I would happily do my part in helping make your dreams come true.
I hope somewhere, deep down in your heart, you can forgive me. While your efforts were foiled, please don’t let the legend die. Do what you know must be done.
Tell your story.
The story of a man who risked it all on a Windows 99 from a folding chair in his mom’s basement. The story of a man who came so close to touching his dream, only to have flown too close to the sun and fallen, like Icarus before him.
They will remember you, Harley Not-Today-vid-son.
They will remember you.
I know I will.
I love you.
Forever yours in spirit but not in dollars,
Ian
This post was originally published on June 27th, 2019
Ian Estabrook 