06/29/04’s illustrious band:

Lazy River

Brought to you by wishful thinking.

Apparently I still had a little bit of bank gristle left in my teeth, because I found myself chewing those wankers out yet again this morning. Sure, they finally delivered my new debit card . . . 7 weeks late. But the new access code? No. And I’m not complaining about that; putting the card and the code together in the same package would have been stupid.

What I’m complaining about is that (A) although the card was delivered extra fast once I sank my teeth into the right tushie, the code was mailed at the usually leisurely pace, so I won’t receive for about another week yet and (B) no one has access to the code to tell it to me. No one. No one at the bank, no one at the credit card place. No one. There is no possible way for me to get the code over the phone, no matter how many Social Security numbers and mothers' maiden names I recite. For my protection, of course. So I still can’t use the card at an ATM.

I could, of course, go to the nearest branch of my bank (actually, a small credit union) and have the number changed manually. But that’s a whole ‘nother pain in the butt. There is no branch in the suburb where I live, nor in the ‘burb where I work. There is one near the T’ai Chi studio, which is where I’d normally be heading on a Tuesday after work, but it would be closed by the time I got there.

No, the nearest branch is partway between office and home, and it just happens to be in my least favorite suburb in the entire metro area. The random street layout and nonexistent signage make navigation challenging on a good day; if you’re looking for an unfamiliar address, well, the huge water tower in the center of “town” starts to look a lot like a raised middle finger. And getting back onto the construction-addled freeway afterward? Don’t make me laugh. Still, I want to get this card operational. I have to risk it.

Well, smart people plan ahead, right? A smart person would call ahead, make sure the desired service is offered at that location, and ask for directions. So I did that. Hit the credit union’s Internet home page, clicked on “branch hours and locations.” A map to the branch is thoughtfully provided -- which would be great if the roads and streets in this ‘burb were labeled the same way they are on the map, but I know from previous experience that they are not. I look for the phone number. There isn’t one.

That’s right, there isn’t one. A call to the main office reveals that you can’t call this branch of the credit union, or most of the other outposts. All calls are routed through the main call center at the opposite end of the metro. Uh . . . huh. The main call center assures me, however, that I can get my card fixed at the branch office, provided I get there before 5:00.

Honestly! Should it really take five phone calls and an in-person trip to complete the “automatic” replacement of my expired debit card?

Against my better judgment, I’m going to give it a try. I have a couple checks that need depositing, and with the mortgage payment due in a couple days, sooner is better than later. Rather than whiling away a summer evening beside a lazy river humming along to the audio lemonade of old-fashioned barbershop harmonies, the way God intended, I’ll be fighting my way upstream against rush hour traffic and stoplights. (Actually, I can put the music on the car stereo, but it’s the principle of the thing.) I expect everyone to feel very sorry for me. Have you started yet?

Today around the world: June 29 is Independence Day in Seychelles, a group of 40 granitic and about 50 coralline islands in the Indian Ocean northeast of Madagascar. Cinnamon trees are among Seychelles’ chief natural resources. The whole country must smell like one gigantic Cinnabon.

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