Monday, May 01, 2006

It Was Just One of Those Days

Last Saturday dawned a beautiful day. Cool, but sunny. One of those spring days so full of promise that you don't want to waste a moment of it.
I arose relatively early for me. I had to go to the bank and I also had an appointment to get a haircut.
First stop: The ATM. I pulled up behind the car in front of me, leaving a courtesy space between us and waited. When it was my turn, I pulled up and stuck in my ATM card. Absolutely nothing happened! No prompt to continue, no warning message saying "out of order." NOTHING! I sat there waiting for the machine to give me back my card. I could see it in the slot and was sure it would be coughed back at me any second. I even pressed the "cancel" button: still nothing.
Finally I gave up and drove to the drive-up window. Since when does a reputable banking institution hire immature smart alecks to serve the public? I explained my situation to the young woman at the window. I think she took one look at my gray hair and the somewhat wrinkled skin around my eyes, and thought, "senior citizen." which to someone of her age and IQ would mean "feeble minded."
"Are you sure you put it in the right way?" she asked in a patronizing tone. "Yes," I answered.
"Has your card expired?" was her next question. "No," I replied trying desperately hard to be patient. She smiled that smile of false sympathy, and said that the ATM people only serviced the machine on weekdays, and if I came back on Monday afternoon, and brought my drivers license I could get my card back. So off I went speeding to my haircut. (Note: by now I was running late.)All went well with the haircut, thought I still wonder why, after several years, the gal who cuts my hair, still askes me every time I go, "now, how did we cut this the last time?" To my recollection, "we" didn't cut my hair, she did. How the heck do I know what size 'rake" she used. I thought a rake was used on leaves, and gardens, but after all, I am "feeble minded," so what do I know?
After the haircut, I went home. I told my wife about my ATM disaster. She immediately called the bank to have them stop any charges on my card in case it was found. The bank said my card had been coughed out when the next person tried to use the ATM and that person had turned it in. (Thanks for your honesty, whomever you are.) The bank "hot carded" it anyway and now I would have to apply for a new card. So, back into the car I got, went to the bank, filled out an application for another card, and endured yet another patronization by a teller young enough to be my granddaughter. I am sure that I have underwear and socks older than she is!!!
By this time, I needed to "cool off," so I went to work in my yard. Bear in mind that I have not pulled that first weed or picked up that first fallen limb since spring began, so I raked, pruned and mowed my way back to whatever state-of-mind I deem normal.
After four hours of manual labor, I was exhausted, but a lot happier. I also discovered how horribly out of shape I am. My muscles screamed and my joints were creaking. Now I realize that it's my body that is growing feeble: not my mind. But I am still able to function. Damn the arthritis, full speed ahead. After I hung up my rake, peeled off my gloves, and closed the garage door, I took a nap. All was right with the world once again!

1 comment:

Professor said...

Banks suck. ATMs suck. Way to keep a cool head. I would have been demanding the teller's on a platter!