Petty Postcards

In a world where internet fraud is rampant I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve either been a victim, or an almost-victim. The latest of course was the would-be attempt the other day on a five year old sale (see Who’s Confused? in the blog archive), but in the end all it took was one call to ABE and a firm note from me and the whole thing disappeared.

Some years back though a scammer posing as a children’s book dealer from Great Britain ordered a set of My Book House saying he would be sending a check via his American bank account. Not a problem, except that when it arrived it was for $5000 when the total sale including shipping was a little over $200. This was in the early days of the infamous scam where the perpetrator tells you that his secretary made an error and requests that you cash the check, take what’s owed you, and send the rest back to him in a check drawn from YOUR account. Even though I’d never heard of this ploy then, it didn’t take an MBA to recognize larceny outfitted in a sandwich board. I phoned the bank from which his check was drawn and asked for the fraud department. Sure enough, he had no account there, but they were very familiar with him and asked me to forward all communications from him via email. I don’t know what happened in the end, but the funny part is he kept writing to tell me how safe it all was which meant of course that the bank and I carried on an extended and lively correspondence!

I did, however, fall victim to fraud on three wide-spaced occasions. The first time was in 1997 the first year I opened my business. I sold a book to a professor from an Ivy League university who immediately after receiving it ordered another and asked me to please send it ASAP as he needed it yesterday. In those days ABE did not collect payment so it had to be handled between the dealer and the buyer (I’d still rather have that way actually). I took credit cards, so I hesitated for a second when he said he preferred to send a check and have it and the book cross in the maiI. Something told me not to agree, but I ignored it because we’d successfully done business by check the first time. I think you can guess the sad outcome.

My second encounter was for a book on pop music, the title of which eludes me. This order came through via TomFolio and was to ship to Singapore. As luck would have it, t arrived early in the morning as I was getting ready to go to a book sale. I had a little time and figured I might as well process the card, wrap the book, and ship it on the way along with the previous day’s orders. While standing in line at the sale a long-time dealer asked if anyone had gotten an order from Singapore through TomFolio. I said I had and he replied, “Well, whatever you do, don’t ship it. TomFolio sent out a warning about it right after I got mine.” Turns out it was a stolen credit card. The book, the shipping, and the bank fees exceeded $100.

Sadly, my third situation was a repeat performance of the Great Singapore Scenario. A guy from California ordered The Vincent Price Cookbook, which at that time sold for $150, and called me with his credit card number. I found him very personable and remember chatting a little about cooking, so was totally blindsided when I got notice that this credit card was stolen too!

I tell you these tales because this week I experienced the downside of retail in a whole new way. Monday night I took a box of books over to the antiques mall as planned. It was late, they were about ready to close, so I quickly tidied up the books that had migrated and shelved the new ones. But just as I picked up my empty banker’s box and started to leave I caught a glimpse of the small chest on which I showcase special small items. A couple weeks ago I had noticed that two hand-colored real photo Japanese postcards from the 1940’s were gone and figured they’d been purchased. When they failed to to show up on the nightly sold list I filled out a missing item report thinking that perhaps a buyer had changed his or her mind and returned them to the wrong booth, a very common occurrence. Once we found two of our books on a table down the aisle and another time discovered someone’s huge trophy sitting on our ephemera table along with a second dealer’s stereoptican cards.

So, what was missing this time? Postcards again -- three -- and from the exact corner where the Japanese cards had been. I used to call it my lucky corner because I sold several unusual and hard to find local interest cards from it before the Japanese ones disappeared. I tried to ignore the feeling that washed over me, telling myself that they were local interest cards just like all the ones I’d sold, and they’d turn up on the nightly list. But of course they didn’t. The total for the five very uncommon and highly desirable cards is $80. Dealers work harder than ever these days to get unusual items and pay more for them in terms of both cost and overhead, so a hit like that stings.

But oddly enough, the money matters less to me than the fact that someone took them knowing that mine is a small business. I also have the sinking feeling that the same person filched them all which makes it even worse. I think I’d rather have five random people snatch five postcards than one person take two and then deliberately come back later for three more. I know it’s not really personal, but it sure feels that way.