Too Much Perspective

Comedy is stress with perspective.

A few weeks ago, we paid our quarterly taxes using a credit card so we could save the prerequisite amount of funds owed to Uncle Sam. Due to various fiscal issues, we found we would need a loan to cover the difference and immediately set about at that point filing the paperwork to get a loan from ourselves via our 401k. One would think that securing a secure amount of money from a secure place where the bank would be taking no risk would take almost no time. Not so. With four days left, we were feeling rather nervous about getting hit with the high interest rate for not paying our bill but the check arrived and off we went to the bank.

It was after five, so I used the ATM. No biggie right?

Wrong.

Biggie.

BIGGIE.

You see, if you deposit a check at a teller, the funds even if they are large, are available sooner. If you deposit a check via an ATM, the funds are held until the check is verified and scanned. Meaning, A deposit on Friday is not looked at until Monday and possibly not scanned until Wednesday. Bill due Monday. Check arrived Friday. We didn’t know this, but we weren’t worried as I intended just to wait for Monday and pay by phone.

Monday, I called my card billing number. I explain that I’d like to pay by phone and give the necessary information to “SET IT UP.”

Thinking about the check, I paused and said, “Wait a minute, let me call my bank on the other line to make sure the check has cleared before we authorize the full amount.” I’d already begun pushing buttons on my home phone. It was then the man said, “I’m sorry, you can’t change the amount. The charge goes through at midnight and once you gave me the information it cannot be rescinded, altered or denied.” and I began to gain perspective.

“But I didn’t say “Yes, that’s my final answer.” Shouldn’t you guys have a “Are you sure you want to do this before you give a warning shot that things can’t be changed?” “When you give the account information, that is tacit approval.” “What about explicit disapproval?” No answer.

“So basically, I’m going to get popped for the overdraft I didn’t yet authorize by you on money I do have which the bank doesn’t want to acknowledge, which will also get me popped by the bank.”

“Yes. But we're not unsympathetic, we’ll wave the late fee.”

After an hour of going round and round including an unpleasant point when I lost it completely and then wondered if the call being recorded would be broadcast on the news. "Woman sobs insanely on the phone for hours..." I finally persuaded him say he'd send an email to the banking department requesting a change. He suggested I call my bank to see if they would release the funds so all would be well. Not seeing an alternative solution, I hung up and called the bank.

Two years ago, I could have gotten a 100K home equity loan from a five minute phone call. Today, I cannot get the bank to link my credit card which THEY issued me to my account without a five day waiting period. It takes longer to get a loan than to gain approval to buy a gun. Meaning if I held them up, I’d get access to my money faster. I also decided spending too much time on hold is not healthy for one's moral compass.

The absurdity of not having access to actual money I had loaned myself so I could pay a bill which as a result would have me overdraft at midnight on funds the bank refused to acknowledge but which I actually had was making my head spin. I finally asked over the phone if the woman could see the absurdity of the situation. Instead of answering, she suggested I call back the credit card place.

Calling the credit card place again, the woman immediately said she’d file a report with the banking department for review. I decided not to complicate matters by saying that had already been done. Instead I asked to speak to the banking department. She said there wasn’t an actual banking department but that my request would be reviewed. I asked who would be the reviewer. She said she didn’t know but she’d filed a report. I asked who got the report she filed. She said she didn’t know but they’d look at it within 48 hours. I said could I talk to one of the people who looks at the reports but isn’t part of the banking department because it doesn’t exist but does the reviewing of the email reports for review because I only had 8 hours with which to work. She said no again. I asked for the supervisor. She said there wasn’t any but I could call back in a few hours to see if my request had been reviewed.

At this point I needed perspective. I called Mom.

She suggested going to the bank where I had a friend. Lugging three children into a place that likes business attire did not sound like fun but it was now 2 o’clock, I’d been at this since 10 and wouldn’t sleep that night if this wasn’t resolved in a way where I felt our assets were secure. The bank has all these signs that say “We’re here to help. To solve problems. Money at the touch of a button, at the end of a phone line.” I signed in to talk to the bank representative.

Clearly shaken by the pre-school set in his office, the man listened to my story and suggested I take my credit card to the teller, take out a cash loan from my card and use that to secure the necessary funds to prevent an overdraft that evening if the credit card made good on its promise. The interest would be 19.9% with a 4% transaction fee on top of that, meaning I could take out another loan on myself for a usury agreement to cover money I actually had until the bank agreed to let it go. “You don’t use a gun but…” I thought to myself and the tiny vindictive part of me was glad that my two girls had gone through three lollipops each and left the wrappers on their carpet. I privately hoped one of the suckers would get stuck to a wall or something. I left the bank and decided to call back the credit card company again.

This time, I got another woman and she said, “There have been several reports about your account. The change was put through.” And just like that, tragedy became comedy. Getting to the school for pick up, I visited with another mother telling her the whole story. She said, “You know, you made my day.” She’d in a hurry to get to her daughter’s pre-school because they charge 5 dollars a minute after the first ten minutes for pick up time and took a corner too quickly. My guess is they’re frustrated bankers. She showed me the side of her mini-van.

“I was worried about 25$.” She said.

The side of her door was crushed in at the bottom and unable to open. “Now, I have about a $2000.00 repair.”

“Did the pre-school still hit you with the fee?”

“No. And so I don’t mind the door as much.”

And I thought about all of it and how laughter is a state of profound grace that allows us to tolerate the intollerable, to endure suffering and struggling, minutia and big things with a poise that otherwise would not be possible.

Next time I'm going to laugh first. It's cheaper and way less stress.

My Two Cents vs. Their Three

Picking up the mail in January, I froze, and not just from the -10 degree wind chill whipping around for my winter pleasure. In my hands amidst the bills and late Christmas cards, flyers for pizza and leftover catalogs were an OVERDUE NOTICE.

I always pay all our bills at the beginning of each month. I keep the tabs and am scrupulous about knowing what checks I write and for whom. Maybe the Christmas rush had allowed me to miss one…I was upset as I sat at the table and began to open it up. Would my clerical error ruin our credit rating? The notice seemed to scold me with its very presence.

Opening the letter my fear gave way to rage. “This letter is to inform you that the bill on your 2004 Mini-van loan for the amount of $.03 is PAST DUE. Please remit the sum of $.03 to the Ameri-Bank account immediately to avoid procedures that could affect your CREDIT RATING.

I put down the letter. I got out my checkbook and past bill stubs. Sure enough, I had written the check for $379.76. The bill was $379.79. I called the 1-800 number to discuss the matter.

“May I help you Ms?” A disinterested voice came on after I had spent the better part of 15 minutes punching buttons on the phone tree to get to a human being.

“Yes! I’m calling about my account…”

She then proceeded to interrupt me to ask for all the information I had just spent 15 minutes punching into the phone tree. “How may I serve you today?” she said finally in a bored voice.

“Why am I getting an OVERDUE NOTICE?” I asked. “You have proof that I made my payment promptly.”

“Yes, it shows that you paid, but our computers indicate that you haven’t satisfied the terms of your contract for the loan.”

“Because of three cents?”

“Yes Ms.” She replied. “What if everyone started writing their checks for pennies less than the actual bill, the company would loose thousands of dollars.”

Momentarily stopped by the thought that a business could loose thousands because of a second of dyslexia, common sense reasserted itself in my brain. “This isn’t a vast conspiracy; I just switched a number by accident, from a nine to a six. I can’t just write three more cents on the next bill?”

“No Ms, our computer indicates that your account is not in compliance. Any additional money sent in next week would apply to the principle but not satisfy the outstanding balance left unpaid.” She droned.

“But it’s three cents. If I write a check for three cents it will cost .39 cents to mail it and more than that for you to process it. Why am I getting a threatening we will destroy your credit rating over three cents?”

“I understand Ms. But our computer reads the payment as insufficient funds and as such you have to send in a check immediately or it will forward your account to the appropriate collection agencies.” I could almost hear her filing her nails and chewing gum in indifference.

“What? For Three CENTS?”

“Yes Ms.” She said this with the evident self detachment culled from hours of telling countless people the same information for even smaller sums.
…..

Trying not to seethe at the incomprehensibility of having my credit rating ruined over three copper coins easily found on the bottom of my car for which the payments were made, I mentally debated the satisfaction of mailing three pennies, of mailing the next full payment in nothing but pennies, and of simply blowing the whole thing off.

“What about an electronic transfer?” I asked, trying to avoid an unnecessary chore and make the best of a stupid situation.

“There is a twelve dollar fee for the transfer Ms.”

“So it would cost me twelve dollars and three cents to square my account?”

“Yes—“

Not feeling particularly civil at that moment, I hung up in mid Ms.

As I wrote the check and began addressing the envelope, I wondered if the bank would fine me for having written a check for such a tiny amount. Phoning the bank, they explained that yes indeed, there would be a 5 dollar fee for writing a check for three cents. I could avoid the fee if the amount exceeded a dollar. I also figured that mailing three cents physically would cost $.45 cents in postage, and that probably sending three physical cents would warrant another letter from the bank.

Ripping up the check, I wrote a new one for a dollar with a note, “Since we both could use the change, I’m transferring my account.”

Having a Youtube Moment

First, a disclaimer: I don't watch Youtube.

I know what you're thinking: You lie.

No. I really don't. My computer still putts around on dial up, so unless I want to experience processing information in real time as if I have ADHD, I'm not going to link onto any video type material, no matter who sends it to me.

It's not that I've never seen Youtube. I've been at a friend's house and seen the One Semester of Spanish Spanish Love song --a great humor short if you've never seen it. I've driven home my kids friends and heard about Chad Vader in the Grocery store, and about the puppet versions of Harry Potter singing about Severus Snape.

My main problem with Youtube is the absence of a filter to prevent personal public assassination of an individual in the name of showmanship, put downs, cruelty, smugness, immaturity and indifference to causing humiliation. That, and having dial up, I can't see any of it.

You're thinking...so switch to broadband, cable, wireless, there are ways.

But you see, I know myself well enough to remember, I yell at phone service people who are indifferent to my pain. Appliance man, this means you.

I have been known to roll down my car window when someone took the parking place reserved for new mothers and pregnant women. As the guy sprinted towards the Radio Shack, I yelled "That's Funny, You don't look pregnant!"

Caught at the wrong moment --say during dinner time, after I've been on hold for fifteen minutes, or when pressed and stressed, I can be, and I'm sorry if my mother is reading this, rude.

As Youtube becomes more ubiquitous than it already is, I predict an increase in the percentage of women dressing up and wearing professional type makeup, as daily footage of our everyday becomes more and more posted on the internet. Maybe I should start dying my hair or at least brushing it. If' I'm caught today on TV, Mom will be calling. "Why didn't you at least get a haircut before you went off?"

"I was at the hair dresser's."
"Well, put on some lipstick if you're going to talk like that. It's Clinique bonus time, go in and get a pack."

The reason for all of this, is that in our area, a woman lost her temper and made an ill advised return phone call to a high school senior that had called her home to nag about a snow day. Her husband was/is superintendant of Fairfax schools. That rant in its ugly entirety has even been run on CNN.

While public humiliation is not exactly the modern day equivalent of feeding the Christians to the Lions, it is a public blood sport. People watch and participate in the feeding frenzy because it seems there's nothing wrong with a good public excoriation of another, as long as it appears that the person was deserving of such treatment. No one thinks they'd want to live in a society where scarlet letters are sewn on people's shirts, but having a trail of websites that reveal any and all past discrepancies and personal failures is pretty much the same thing.

What is never asked, is if that treatment was warranted, and that is because the answer would almost always be "No." And then if it were asked, People would shrug their shoulders and say "What can we do?"

We are going to have to as a society learn to manage our "God's Eye" viewpoint that can turn the most intimate and private of conversations into one of the most popularly downloaded clips of the day. We are going to have to remember that at any moment, we could be the one on candid camera, not just in syndication, but forever available, to us and our posterity. What we can do, is not watch. What we can do, is decide before we post, email, film or depict, would we want this done to us?

In the meantime, I'm going to buy some whitening toothpaste and some conditioner. If I'm going to be made infamous for my flaws, I want to look good for Mom.

P.S. and as if to punctuate this slightly serious post, I just discovered my daughter. Apparently, she tried on all the pull-ups to find the one she wanted while I was typing. There are thirteen discarded ones in the bathroom. On Youtube today...