• Amalah
• Ampersand
• Cowgirl Funk
• Cut the Crap
• A Damn Thing
• Fly in the Honey
• From the Mind of the Dawnie
• Hannah Cooks
• Hannah Talks
• Hashai
• Hate Your Daddy
• Hussified
• Invinciblegirl
• JournalCon 2004
• Journey of a Girl
• Kiss My Grits
• Les-Cadeaux
• Meegor
• Nearly There
• The Nuthouse
• Pineapple Girl
• The Rage Diaries
• The Random Muse
• SkinnyKat
• That Something
• What Does a Girl Do?

We went to the post office next, where we waited in the world’s slowest line, and I got several phone calls in a row on my cell. I ignored the buzzing phone and when I checked my messages (after, no joke, 45 minutes in line behind TWO PEOPLE), I’d had several missed calls from my bank, which is a great big national bank that has a red and blue logo. Weird. Why would the bank be calling me on a Saturday?

At the risk of a huge tangent, I will note that I really fucking hate this bank, and that I have been meaning to move my meager funds to another bank for years now, and I have been way too lazy to do that. I like having things automatically deposited into and withdrawn from my account, to minimize check-buying and stamp-acquiring. See above, re: lazy. So, since I got all of that stuff set up with Old Hated Bank, I had no incentive to move to a New Likable Bank, even though there was no ATM within a 15 minute drive of my home, and they charged me $5 for walking through the doors of a branch building. They probably charged me $3 for driving by there once a week. Every time I called them to dispute something or ask a question, I was treated like vermin. This bank disgusts me and I am still appalled at myself for banking there for nearly ten years. Fucking. Hate. Them.

So, Old Hated Bank was calling to tell me that someone had allegedly obtained my debit card number and allegedly sold it to/shared it with others because my account was showing strange transactions in different time zones that were occurring at the exact same time, which is physically impossible to do if you are using the card your own self. My heart started racing and I was doing everything I could to not completely lose my shit in the post office parking lot. Stolen? Debit card number? How? Who? Whaaaat?

I spent all of Saturday afternoon on the phone with assorted shitbags from Customer Service at Old Hated Bank, where I learned that:

• My debit card had been closed immediately and I could not use it.

• The nearly-$200 purchase I’d made at a store using said debit card and needed to return? Shit out of luck! Can’t return a purchase made with a card/account that doesn’t exist!

• Any outstanding checks and debit transactions would likely bounce since my account balance had been nearly depleted.

• Bounced transactions cost $28 apiece.

• and Old Hated Bank just could not give two shits about the giant inconvenience of having no purchasing power for the foreseeable future, the fact that I needed to pay my rent on time (and the possibility of my eviction from this apartment if that was not done on Monday), or the fact that I had THREE FUCKING DOLLARS in my wallet and no other money accessible to me.

• Or, most importantly, that THIS WAS NOT MY FAULT AND I WAS THE VICTIM OF A CRIME.

Around 7:00 on Saturday night, I completely gave up on humanity and fell into a sobbing heap on my bed. T brought me takeout and Diet Coke and the biggest bottle of Tito’s that he could find. I believe I took three double shots before I could even calm down enough to say a complete sentence.

Sunday afternoon, my hangover was killing me, and I decided it was time to get back on the phone with more shitbags at Old Hated Bank, where I found out that they were closing my account within one week due to all of the fraudulent activity, they were not willing to let me access an ATM for five minutes to get cash to get through the next week, and they were not willing to release any of my funds so that I could open another bank account online. I spoke to every supervisor and manager that was in their call center office on Sunday afternoon, and ripped many of them a new asshole. How was I supposed to get paid? It takes up to 30 days to switch DBA information and our payroll operation was centralized to Richmond. They don’t care if my finances are a disaster and that Old Hated Bank was ruining my life. I have never been so frustrated by anything or anyone before because IT WAS NOT MY FAULT and I was completely helpless, which are two of the worst feelings when everything is going to shit.

Sunday night, my best friend was passing through Kansas City on her way home from a vacation with her boyfriend, and she loaned me some cash so that I could pay my rent and open up new accounts at New Likable Bank. I am not entirely sure what I offered to do for her in return, as I went a little crazy with gratitude. Best friends are supposed to say “well, then Old Hated Bank can fuck off, and here, take all of my money so that you aren’t homeless.” I would do the same thing for her in a heartbeat.

I called work late on Sunday night and let them know that I was not going to be showing up the next day, and luckily, T had already planned to take the afternoon off from his job, so I had someone to commiserate with and also drive me around since Blind Hysterical Rage is not really a mental state in which I am allowed to be driving. I went to New Likable Bank and opened a new checking account, and the people there (gasp) were completely bending over backwards to make me happy. I was so mad that I couldn’t decide on a type of account, so they said I could pick anything and have no maintenance charges and they’d pay me interest. They were dying to have me as a customer and they were nice and friendly and reminded me that people who work in customer service sometimes actually provide good customer service. My faith in commercial banking was instantly restored.

Yesterday, T loaned me some money so that I would be able to exist until my new debit/ATM card and checks arrived, and for that, I am very grateful. I haven’t exactly been very nice to him lately, and he was falling all over himself to make me happy – bringing me food and driving my crabby ass around, and making sure that the Diet Coke was stocked at an appropriate level. I made him dinner in return, and got very, very drunk and made some questionable decisions. Go ahead and judge me.

So today, I went to Old Hated Bank to close my accounts and ended up in the branch manager’s office with the door closed while he was trying to explain that they could not give me any funds and I calmly explained that I was not leaving without a cashier’s check, and they could clear all of the pending transactions and bill me for the difference later, or they could expect to hear from an attorney that afternoon. (I’m fortunate that my office is two doors down from an attorney who’s been working in the banking industry for 30-some years, and he happens to be one of my mentors.) I walked out with a check for the full balance in my accounts this afternoon and promptly took it to New Likable Bank, and when I put my deposit in the drive-up chute, they sent back some cherry Dum-Dums for me because that’s the kind of bank they are. Well, that and they are probably afraid of me calling them shitbags in my online journal.