Tuesday, March 28, 2023
Oh, the Bureaucracy!
This time, for some reason, I could not get the PinSentry to read my debit card. It just kept saying "card error" or something like that. Thinking my card had been damaged in some minor way -- because Dave's card worked fine in the PinSentry -- I ordered a replacement debit card.
It was supposed to come within five days. That was two weeks ago, and I've not seen hide nor hair of my new card. Who knows where it went. The Royal Mail is practically insolvent so anything is possible.
With trepidation, I finally contacted the bank yesterday through its painfully, agonizingly slow messaging system to tell them it had not arrived. Rather than order a second replacement, though, I decided to just keep my old card -- it works fine in shops and I can log into the web site using other security information, so I don't really need a new one. And a replacement, I learned, would change my card number so I'd have to update it on all the web sites where we make automatic payments, and I didn't want to do that. (Apparently it's impossible to get a replacement card with the same card number.)
Well, keeping my existing card seemed like such an outrageous, ridiculous thing to do that the bank staff just couldn't wrap their heads around it. It took TWO HOURS of messaging with four different people to finally, successfully convey to them that I only wanted them to cancel the card they'd recently mailed, that I did not need another replacement, that there were no security issues with my existing card and I wanted to keep it.
At the same time that this was going on, Dave and I were trying to watch the last episode of "Fleishman is in Trouble" (which we liked) and I kept having to pause the show to log in to the bank web site again (because it logs you out automatically if you're not active within a certain very short period of time) to see if their underpaid contract employees with no benefits in India or the Philippines or wherever had responded to whatever plaintive plea I'd most recently sent.
Agony. Agony, I tell you.
Anyway, it's anybody's guess whether my card still works. I'll find out soon enough, because Dave is off to Prague today on the school music tour -- which involves transporting something like 150 students and a truckload of instruments and equipment to continental Europe to perform multiple concerts -- and I'll have to do my own shopping until Friday. If the card doesn't work I may be eating the dog's kibble by the time he gets back.
(I'm kidding. I can always get cash from the bank, although I shudder to think what that process might be like without a functioning debit card.)
Here's an egregious spelling error I saw on my way home from work yesterday. I like how whoever made the sign tried to jazz it up with a couple of little stars, and then someone else slipped an E in there to correct it. A coach, by the way, is what the British call certain regional or long-distance buses (but not city buses, which are merely called buses).
(Top photo: A springtime shadow on Abbey Road, St. John's Wood.)