Credit cards are getting coy and cagey

There was a text message on my phone when I awoke:

"Your credit card (number) wasn't present for a purchase. Questions? Call the number on your card."

Well, yes, I did have a question. I was unaware my card was capable of astral projection. Maybe that was something in the new Terms and Conditions, and I'd enabled it by clicking ACCEPT instead of reading all the legal boilerplate.

You agree that your card shall be able to slip the surly bonds of material existence, and wander about in an incorporeal form, alighting where it pleases to buy the items it fancies.

It's possible. No one reads the Terms and Conditions before clicking to accept them. Don't bother me with these tedious, legally binding words I cannot possibly contest in court! I've got shopping to do!

Anyway. I was pretty sure I didn't get up at 4:22 a.m. and buy something online, so I called the credit card company. After wading through the options and saying "representative" nine times and getting nowhere until I finally said, "I hacked your CEO's account and put it all in my Bitcoin wallet," after which I was connected promptly to a cheerful fellow who was eager to help.

He went through my transactions and determined that the 4:22 a.m. charge was legit. It was a streaming service I've been meaning to cancel, but there's that show I've wanted to get back to because I saw the first episode and liked it. (They're now on Season 7.)

"Why was the message so oddly worded?" I asked.

"We're rolling out a new notification system," he said.

"Yes, fine, but previously, it was like this: 'Your card was used at (merchant name) in the amount of $47.93. Questions? Call this number.' Now it's, 'Something happened, thought you might want to know.' So how, exactly, is this an improvement?"

"Well, we've rolled out a new customer alert, as I said, and they're still working on the details."

As in, adding actual details, I guess. I'm wondering how this process went. Imagine the CEO addressing the board:

"We have to change the way we tell people their cards have been used. At present, they get a detailed report, devoid of ambiguity. Where's the mystery? Where's the sense that life has ineffable qualities that transcend the quotidian details of consumerism?"

(Board members exchange looks, cough, fiddle with pens.)

I'm old enough to remember when credit cards were placed in handheld devices, and the cashier would rack back an imprinter that sounded like they were cocking a gun. This was visceral and definitive. You knew you'd just spent some money.

We still hand over our cards in restaurants, which is amusing: You subscribe to nine-factor ID and have fraud protection enabled and real-time alerts, and then you hand over the card with the number and expiration date and Super Secret Code to a total stranger, who then takes it to the back room.

You hate to use the gas pump credit card slots because there could be a skimmer that reads your number and transmits it to a cabal of Russian hackers who promptly use it to buy Bitcoin. And also because you always get it wrong. The instructions on the pump should look like this:

"Please insert your card incorrectly with the stripe in the wrong direction, then remove it, look at it like you've never seen it before and reinsert in the proper orientation."

If you don't insert, you swipe, which is more satisfying. Almost dashing, really. Voila! En garde! Take that! Errol Flynn at the checkout! Or you can just tap the card, which seems wrong, somehow, like holding paper money up to the computer screen when you buy something online.

I prefer to use my watch, because it's easy and very modern and was impressive for about four months half a decade ago. And I get a prompt text from the bank telling me that I just used the card that's loaded on the phone.

I don't get a text saying my card was used without being physically present, because apparently the bank knows the card is in my back pocket. This is the world in which we live: Your phone talks to your buttocks, and you don't even get so much as a friendly tingle.

The role of the credit card has changed in the past few years, so we wouldn't be surprised if they attained consciousness and started making purchases based on what they thought we wanted. Amazon is always suggesting things they think I want, and they're generally in the ballpark, but that's easy. The AI-enabled credit card of the future will know what we want before we want it.

It's not the dystopia we feared, but one we probably deserve.