The day after I ordered my replacement debit card (see previous blog), my handsome husband, Rickey, informed me that his debit card was no longer working and that my card for our joint account wouldn’t be working either. This did not make me have visions of grandeur, as I only have two debit cards. After I relayed my tall tale of missing the security questions on the phone, Rick went straight into the bank, avoiding all that nonsense.
The next day, at Albertson’s I attempted to pay for my $70 of groceries with the card from our joint account. As suspected, it was denied. I had to use the emergency credit card. We do not use credit except for renting hotel rooms, or buying plane tickets….. groceries were a no no. But what was I to do?
Later that day our son Keeve had a state band competition on the far side of town more than an hour away. Rick was going to meet us part way and we would drive together. However, my van’s orange gas tank light was glaring brightly at me as I pulled out of the driveway. I decided to stop at Costco on the way to fill ‘er up. At Costco, I slid my credit card into the slot and the machine asked for my pin number. WHAT? I don’t have a pin number for my credit card! (My husband later informed me that Costco doesn’t take credit cards. How’s a girl to know?)
Getting back in the van, I clicked the little overhead button that tells exactly how many miles until we are out of gas…. 15. Good. After a brief calculation, I assumed our rendezvous was planned less than 15 miles away.
Poor 12-year-old Nora in the back seat was on the verge of a nervous breakdown watching the miles count down. She was imagining us living under an overpass in cardboard boxes, I’m sure. Every time it changed, she would read it aloud, but only in a whisper… ten…. eight…. six… two. And then she read no more after zero showed up and stayed. Holy mother of sweet baby Jesus, homelessness was immanent!
The next exit was only one shy of our meeting place, AND promised a gas station… luring me in like a fly to fly paper. After dialing Rick’s cell number, I explained that we were out of gas and he would need to ride one mile north on his white steed and save the fair maiden and the Colombian princess.
Unfortunately, he lamented that he was delayed and was more than 45 minutes away on the far side of town. Not quite crying, I whimpered about both debit cards not working and I didn’t know my pin number to my credit card. “Go inside the gas station and pay with your credit card!” he spat out. Never in my life have I gone inside a gas station to pay for gas. But now I have and we were happily on our much relieved way. Nora was breathing again and elated that we could drive for 356 miles before heart palpitations returned. She did ask how many miles away the band competition was!
I dialed up the bank again, thinking that I could now answer the stupid security questions, and get my new card ordered for the joint account. The kind lady informed me that my card was indeed open. I clarified through gritted teeth that I was forced to put $70 worth of groceries on a credit card because my debit card was indeed declined. Her response was to blame Albertson’s. I laughed in her ear, hung up and assumed I needed to go into the bank once more. Am I in debit card purgatory????
Please stay tuned for the Debit Card Conundrum, Part III.