Strong Enough to Bend

 I told myself I wasn’t going to cry anymore about this, but I may need to just one last time as I write. 

It’s very good therapy for me. (Writing… and sometimes crying too I guess.)

And though sharing your problems online is often frowned upon and does very little good (if any), if sharing what happened to us “saves” someone I know - or anyone, frankly - or if any positive spin I put on this grows your faith, then at least something good came from all this hassle and heartache.

On April 27th, we received a call to our store for a large shingle order. 

An out of town roofer from Indy happened to pick up another job while working in Morris.

 

Surprisingly, this happens about once a month and has for about 3 years, so this would not be an odd call for us. 

We took the order, they spoke the lingo of roofing supplies, brands, and like items. 

He was kind. 

He spoke with a Spanish accent. 

He needed a copy of the receipt email to him. 

He provided an address for the shingles. 

He gave us all the numbers. Telephone. Credit Card. Billing address. All the everything we asked.

He gave us the name of the guy coming to grab supplies. 

He paid for his order over the phone with a credit card. 

A few bucks north of $4,500. 

All was well.

His pick-up guy came. 

Mexican. 

Polite enough. 

On our cameras. 

Patted our mill guy on the back once. 

Assisted with the load-outs. 

Off to Morris to put on a roof he went. 

For us at Dunlaps, it was another day.

Our Mexican came back with a return the next day. 

And he needed a new Paslode gun. 

We issued back a little credit, but in the end he owed us some money. 

He called his boss to see if it was okay.

On speaker phone we spoke to the man we spoke to the day prior.

Asked about the job. Again, all was great.

And the Mexican and the Paslode went on their way.

On May 1st, Lewis (the boss/the caller) called me back. 

Kind. 

Knew what he was after.

He asked if I remembered him? 

Oh yes, how was the Paslode gun?

Good good.

He would not be in Batesville, but was close, and since our team was so easy to work with, could we do a lumber order or two. 

Sure. What are you after… some plywood, some 2x6s, and some picket fence? We got it!

And we ran his card again.

All approved. 

All was well. 

Our Mexican friend (Jamie) would be back to get it.

And Jamie came back.

On May 2nd they ran a little short so he was back for another dab of lumber.

On his card, same story, same idea, just a new pickup guy was working today.

We understand what it’s like to run a crew.

All is well. 

Nothing unusual.

However, around noon on May 2nd, every phone at the store was humming. 

We were flooded with calls to quote large shingle and lumber orders. 

All Spanish accents. 

All needing $8,000.00+ of material. 

Some polite. 

Some not so much. 

And something felt horribly wrong. 

To me. To Allen. To our amazing employees here at the store.

On May 3rd, we approached the day as a team with NO credit cards over the phone. 

The calls still flooded us, but once they found out they wouldn’t be able to charge anything, they had a sudden change of heart. Most of them got upset because they needed this order and how could WE do business LIKE THIS?!

We felt bad. 

We hated losing sales. 

We do want to trust people. 

But we held our ground. 

On May 4th, the calls returned. 

This time the Spanish accents said they themselves were local roofers. 

In their accents they said they were Dan, Andy, Dave, and so on.

One REAL roofer and account holder of ours was still out in his truck getting ready to drive off when a voice - who very much wasn’t our beloved roofer friend - said he was HIM needing to place an order. This customer they were impersonating is slowing down so they don’t run a very big monthly tab. “They” suddenly had a big job come up and needed almost $12,000.00 worth of material today. Run the card. They’ll be by to get in less than 2 hours.

The voices pretended to be 9 different contractors throughout that day. 

The story gets much messier and longer. 

Police were called. 

I had to sign a bunch of paperwork at the bank to prepare for the worst.

The word “chargeback” was in my daily vocabulary. 

Our guy Lewis - who made the purchases - disputed the charges or the cards he had were stolen; we don’t know exactly what really happened.

We tried to stop the money from leaving the account. 

But our credit card processor then held ALL of our deposits. 

For 11 days. 

And it was utterly painful.

The deposits were finally released on the 12th day, but the transactions made by Lewis were taken to “la-la land” where it would remain for 50 days while the investigation took place. 

We got in contact with Batesville Police who had access to work with Indiana State Police since the scammers provided so many connections to Indianapolis. 

We waited the 50 days. 

I was a disaster. 

I found out I was pregnant during this time.

I couldn’t feel joy of any kind.

You know when you go for a drive and you zone out and you don’t really remember stopping at the stop sign, but you had to have, but…. Did you? I was like that with every move I made.

I never knew if I was having morning sickness or if my own life was making me sick.

I couldn’t focus on anything whatsoever.

The only thing that consumed my EVERY thought was one word: chargeback.

And then, just a few days ago, we were notified that we lost the case.

All the money in “la-la-land” … many many thousands of dollars… was issued back to the cardholder. 

No further action was needed from us.

It was over.

The police report didn’t count.

The video camera footage submitted didn’t count.

The paperwork I had to gather. 

The bank letters.

The calls.

The hours on hold. 

The transfers.

All for nothing.

Over. 

Done.

I hate to say it, but when I feel like I’m going down, I push everyone close to me so far away. 

I just don’t want to take anyone down with me when I go. Especially people I love.

And during this dark time, I even pushed God away.

I very rarely prayed. I couldn’t focus on prayers or what I wanted to say or even what to feel.

I very rarely thanked God for anything.

I didn’t want anything to do with anything.

And last night, in the darkness of my porch, I finally asked Jesus if we could talk.

I said I am just going to sit here and listen.

I like to do that sometimes. See what comes to me.

Call it getting in my own head or devine work, I don't really know.

But I heard nothing. Jesus wasn't here, I thought.

Just silence.

Silence.

Silence.

More silence.

Thick tears on my hot and angry face.

Silence

More silence.

And then I heard, “But I don’t care about money.”

Okay.

But….

But…

But I do.

I have to.

“No, you don’t. It’s only money.”

I know, but I-

“No. I don’t care about money.”

And the shadows grew longer. And my face got a touch cooler.

And the silence didn’t seem as painful.

We are out thousands of dollars.

I can’t cut costs in random areas to save this one very well.

No matter how much cheaper toilet paper I buy or what knock off ink toners I buy, I am not going to be able to hide this blow.

In short, we are going to simply have to feel this one.

And it stings.

I am going to have to work harder and more creatively to figure out where we go from here.

Our wounds will someday heal, but this is one scar that will probably be there forever. Maybe one scar we can laugh at someday, way down the road, and say to the next generation, “Oh let me tell you about that one.”

Scars do make for great stories.

I am going to try everything to listen to whatever I heard on my porch and focus on what I heard in my head.

I'm going to try to not be prejudice or judgemental, though it's so obvious why it occurs.

I'm going to hold firmly to my belief that everyone has to meet their maker someday. 

I'm going to work on accepting that justice is not always served on this side.

And I'm going to choose to live as though I needed to learn this painful lesson to better root my faith.

As I drove into work this morning, I listened to Tanya Tucker’s “Strong Enough to Bend.” If we can withstand storms and bend to the wind when hardships come, we can survive and even thrive. In our 150 years, we have, like any and all businesses, endured our share of hardships. I wonder if sales were down and product was hard to come by and people couldn't pay their bills at our store during the Civil War? Hmm.

“What we have will last forever if we’re strong enough to bend.”

Love always,

Samantha