It's Christmas Eve. I stop at the liquor store on my way home from a family party to pick up some booze for my brothers and me. I'm a skinny little girl and encounter a certain degree of difficulty in making it to the register while juggling a handle of rum, a bottle of pinot noir, and a case of Coors Light. But I manage to make it to the counter without shattering any glass.
The guy behind the register looks to be about my age, mid-twenties, and asks for my ID before he rings up my items. He reads me my total, I slide my debit card through the thing, and he tells me to enter my PIN. Immediately after punching in the numbers, I hear the guy ask me, "Do you really think it's a good idea having 7165 as your PIN?"
Okay, it's pretty fucking creepy that this kid watched me enter my PIN and then recited the number back to me, but I had already downed a bottle of wine and it was Christmas, so I go with it for a second.
"Ummm.... that's pretty creepy. Are you going to write down all my credit card info now?" I say, half serious, with a flirty smile. I'm in my buzzed make-friends-with-anyone-and-everyone state (he killed that pretty quickly, though). "Actually, you're probably right," I go on, "it's the last four digits of my phone number, so it's not all that secret. I probably should change it."
"Great, now I just have to guess the first six digits," he responds, in an eerily serious voice... and I leave as quickly as possible.
Lesson #1: If your pickup attempt leaves the girl debating whether or not she should call the cops, rather than whether or not she should call you... something's not working.
Note to self: Change your PIN first thing Monday morning.
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