It is said that pictures speak volumes. The same can be true of numbers. This particular number is imprinted on my mind. It will be there forever if my mind exists forever.

The story behind it is not unique, nor is it more than just an ordinary event on an ordinary day. It began with a phone call. I picked up the phone to answer it. I did not have my glasses handy. I judged the letters and numbers on the caller ID to be my daughter calling. Same number of numerals, same number of letters, and the time was right. So I responded as I always do when my daughter calls me : "Yes, Mum." There was a momentary pause on the other end. Then a casual, friendly, well-modulated female voice responded: "Mrs. Hazell?"

Well, it wasn’t my daughter, but whoever it was had pronounced my name correctly and spoke English. My mind went from ALERT to AT EASE. It would not be a telemarketer.

The lady identified herself as Pat Duffy and told me that she was calling on behalf of my bank, US Bank. I assumed I had made a mistake in my account, and my mind went back to ALERT. I am still under the impression that the bank never makes a mistake. I usually make the mistakes. The voice on the other end of the line sounded like a soft smile. No, there wasn’t any mistake. However, in view of the fact that there are a lot of telemarketers who seek access to the accounts of the elderly, US bank had decided to block the accounts of the elderly so that the elderly persons could not be scammed. My mind went temporarily on STAND BY. So far, the lady had a point and as far as I could assume, she was correct. The lady continued. She told me that the bank would pay for the expense and the expense would be 3.99. Three dollars and ninety-nine cents seemed a small amount and, as far as I was concerned, that was not a big expense for the bank. I even congratulated the lady and my bank for being so thoughtful. The lady continued and explained to me that all the information she needed was my date of birth and my home address. My mind saw little danger in that. I figured in this day and age, if your date of birth and home address are not available on some list or other, you were either dead or not born yet. Having passed this hurdle, the lady explained to me that the information we had exchanged would have to be on a recording.

The recording, she said, would be faster than the usual speed of her voice. All I had to do was respond correctly to my date of birth, my bank, my address, and the amount. After the recording, she would tell me how I was to be informed about the systematic change of my account.

As she had said, the recording was fast-paced. When it came to the amount, it had changed from 3.99 to $399.

My mind went to FULL ALERT and I interrupted her in order to confirm the amount. She seemed a bit annoyed because I had interrupted her, and told me that now the whole process had to be repeated. I apologized. Whoever and whatever Pat Duffy was, she was part of a bureaucratic mechanism, and we all know about bureaucracy. This time we got through the whole process. With the recording completed, the automatic device gave a confirmation number. Since the recorder was nice enough to give it twice, I took the trouble to write it down. Mrs. Duffy did not respond to that particular part of the recording. She continued on, telling me that I would receive confirmation within 15 days and it had been a pleasure to talk to me. She thanked me again and hung up.

My mind was still on STAND BY when my daughter called. I told her about the phone call, mostly because I thought it was funny that I had answered it the way I usually greeted her. My daughter was slightly suspicious. She could not see any bank paying $399 for each customer over the age of 65 just to block telemarketers from getting their hands on their customers' money.

"Did she ask for your account number?" my daughter asked. I told her she did not. I would not have given that anyhow. I had just recently changed my account number because of an intended scam. Just to be on the safe side, I was going to go to the bank in the morning and inquire about that situation. The Duffy person had called close to 5:00 p.m. By that time the bank was closed; Barb had called at around 5:30. After talking to my daughter, I assumed my afternoon leisure hour: a little tea, a little TV, a little knitting. But my mind refused to go back to AT EASE. Thinking unkind thoughts about someone who apparently was doing me a favor is just not part of my personality.

The phone rang again. This time I had my glasses. My caller ID informed me that it was a blocked call. Now my mind went on RED ALERT. But it was the Duffy person again. I apologized for having bungled the recording. She told me not to worry about that. She said she had now completed most of her data but she needed to read my account number to me, and all I had to do was confirm the number and tell her that it was correct. When I asked her why she needed that, she told me that the bank wanted to be certain they accessed the right account for this procedure. Now the warning sirens went off in my head and my mind took over control of my mouth. The Duffy person told me that after I had confirmed my account number, she would give me the confirmation number of the recorded procedure. I paused for a moment. I still had difficulty believing that this person could be dishonest. "Would you mind calling me back tomorrow morning?" I asked, then added, "Before I confirm my account number, I have to speak to my bank." She thanked me for my time and hung up. Inside me, a revolution was taking place. I have great difficulty assuming evil things about people I don’t know. If this were to turn out to be a scam, it would indeed be an evil thing.

I went to the bank the following morning. It is a little branch bank. I had been banking there long before US bank became US bank. The lady who manages the bank is new, but she is pleasant. Again, I felt bad for thinking of the possibility of a scam. I related the story to her. I could see by the expression on her face that this was indeed a scam.

"Did you allow her to confirm the number?" She asked. I told her I had not. She consulted the Internet to make sure there wasn’t something the bank was doing that she hadn’t been informed about. She consulted her superior. When she returned to the desk, she smiled and said, "You did well."

My mind was still on RED ALERT as I left the bank, crossed the parking lot, and got into my car. I may have been driving my car by myself, but I could sense that the seat next to me was occupied. Grandmama was there. She is always there when I confront a wicked thing that has been done by a wicked person. "You live in wicked times, my child!" If she had spoken these words out loud, it could not have been any clearer in my mind. I whispered softly, "Can you multiply 31,738,189 by $399? That’s how many people have been contacted by phone with that proposition," I explained to Grandmama. If that is not a crime, what is? Alas, the criminal was protected. Caller ID knew Mrs. Duffy only as a Blocked Call.

If you call me and my trusty machine answers for me, it will be because I have lost my faith in humanity for a little while. Well, not all of it, just some of it and just for a little while. To quote my friend Penny, "You talked too much to someone who didn’t deserve your kindness. From now on, if it’s someone you don’t know, don’t answer." Dear Penny! Hell will freeze over before I respond to another blocked call. And my glasses will be on my neck from the moment I get up."

As for the Duffys of this world, I will do what my faith tells me to do: I will forgive, and I’m all for giving it to God.