What I learned from an errant Venmo

The world has become 'us' or 'them' just as they've said.

For three months I’d been waiting and nudging my electrician to do the maintenance service for my generator. I used to worry about storms and now I worried about whether he’d show up in time, before the first storm that would shut everything down. Yes, I could find someone else, but this man “fathered” my generator. He arranged to be at my house for the delivery so that he could check that all was just right when it emerged from the shipping container, he installed everything, and from the beginning he’s done the maintenance, first yearly and now biannually. He’s no-nonsense, he’s professional, and he’s very reasonable.

That last characterization is especially relevant because when I sent him his payment via Venmo, I didn’t send it to him. I sent it to someone who’s phone number had all the same numerals except the fourth and fifth number for my electrician were the fifth and fourth number for the stranger who now has the money meant for my guy. In other words, I had a dyslexic moment, and one that I’d rehearsed, making sure that I’d avoid what happened. I checked the number he text me, I repeated it, wrote it down and rehearsed it–wrong–and then initiated the Venmo transaction.

In less than five minutes I figure out what I’d done. Over the many years that I’ve used Venmo, this happened once before and it was for a large transaction. I was unhappy with the service and I wanted to block the payment. Long story short, I asked my bank to stop the payment which they did, but Venmo wasn’t having it. For quite a while I boycotted the service and use it infrequently these days.

This time I went to the “We can help you options” Venmo offers. From my previous mishap I knew that I could not only lose my money but I could lose lots of time in the process. The “We can help you options,” I’d learned, are illusory. Then I had an ah-ha moment. I had the phone number, and I knew it worked because the money was gone, so I could text the person. I’d explain my error and ask if she/he/they would be so kind as to either refuse the payment or reimburse. Time passed. Maybe she/he/they have notifications turned off, or only check emails infrequently. Or, maybe not.

I’m disappointed but I’m not so surprised. My thoughts turned to when I was a child and my family would ride the Harlem and Hudson Line–now the Metro North–to visit my aunt and uncle in the ‘burbs. Is it any different than when my mother used to tell the conductor–“She’s only five, but yes, big for her age”– year after year, because then she’d paid a lower fare for me. Or, is it any different from when she’d have me slink beneath the subway turnstile because after all I was a child? Even if I wasn’t and I was a tall person so that slinking wasn’t easy.

Of course, at three o’clock in the morning, I began to perseverate on what had happened. But I didn’t check my phone to see if there had been a response to my text, which would be like letting them win again. By four AM I assumed the ‘perp’ had devised a way to empty out my bank account. Who was this person? I had answers. Answers influenced by today’s political climate, which was horrifying and illuminating. How everything has become contaminated. There’s no neutral space. Here’s the scenario:

From a political lens, the beneficiary of my error is male, white, probably in his 20s or 30s. His area code is the same as mine so he’s local, but my guess is he lives in a neighboring community that is more conservative, tinged purple.

From an humanitarian lens, whether the person is male or female or other is less clear, so I’m using “they/their” because it seems more encompassing. I’d put them in the same age-range as the political ‘perp.’ I’m not “sure” of the ethnic identity. I tell myself they’re having a hard time financially so that this inadvertent windfall, albeit a minor one, gives then a happy moment. They don’t think about the moral question underlying their actions.

Who knew that a seemingly innocuous slip would be so revelatory? I’ve been corrupted by the political environment. How is my reaction any different from talking about “the enemy within?”

Michael Meerapol offered a commentary on NPR discussing the 1950s and the Red Scare. His parents, Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, were electrocuted for being Communists. There’s been so much reference to the 1930s and the rise of fascism in Germany that the period of American history, the McCarthy era, feels overlooked. Meerapol describes the fear and hatred of the “other,” at that time directed at Communism. Now it feels like we’re flirting with a comparable level of paranoia.

What a far cry from the peace and love of the late sixties and early seventies, the backdrop for my existential coming of age.

There was a story in the local newspaper about a boy, trick-or-treating with friends, who was denied candy by several residents because he was dressed as former President Trump. His mother told the reporter that the costume was his choice, and whether or not he intended it as a prank or a political statement isn’t clear. Some of my neighbors don’t have the same political inclinations as I do, but I’ve gotten to know them beyond their political identities. I get eggs from one neighbor because I’m vegan and he doesn’t kill the chickens, even when they stop laying. How does that fit the stereotypical paradigm?

Canvassing locally, many of the houses were still festooned with Halloween decorations. While I wasn’t assigned to knock on doors of individuals associated with the “other” party, still I didn’t assume a positive reception. I realized that I was trying to intuit political affiliations by the Halloween decorations. The world has become ‘us’ or ‘them,’ just as they’ve said.

Back to my Venmo error. No I haven’t had a response to my text, and I’m out some dollars, but what an eye-opener for me. Unfortunately, I’ll probably never know what best characterizes the person, probably nothing like the profiles I created.