Yesterday I noticed that my bank opened up a new branch near where I live. Since I’m 88 years old, this was wonderful news.
I immediately decided to take out some fresh cash from the cash machine.
I put in my card, pressed “shitload” when it asked me for what amount I wanted in $20 bills and waited. I like to pretend that I’m in Atlantic City when I withdraw cash so that when the money is doled out, I pump a fist in the air a little. Usually my own.
Except this time there was no cash dispensing. There was no fist pumping. Instead there was a message saying that the service I requested could not be performed right now.
It’s hard to believe that some people think that Anti-Semitism is no longer a problem in America.
A few things ran through my mind.
First, I considered that because these ATM machines were new, they hadn’t yet been trained in cash dispensing. And yet, as I looked to my the cash-retrievers on either side of me, I saw that they were getting barrels full of money out of the bank. Why, their legs were practically buckling!
Second, I thought that maybe I already took all the cash out of the account, which would be sad; although the Lucy and Ricky skit that would await me once Husbandrinka found out would make for excellent blogging fodder. Always with the silver lining, I am.
I wanted to check the balance, but the ATM let me know that this service wasn’t available to me, either.
Which left me with only one possible explanation:
Husbandrinka fell in love with a younger, more beautiful woman, canceled my card, got one for her and forgot to tell me.
The more I thought about this, the more it made sense. I called Husbandrinka.
“The machine isn’t giving me cash,” I told him.
“What machine?” he asked.
See? If someone didn’t have a guilty mind, would he question what machine? I mean, what machine usually gives you cash?
“The ATM machine,” I tried to speak in measured tones. No need to escalate matters ahead of time. The Snapped episodes always start out matter-of-fact.
“No clue,” he said. Probably while booking a get-away from Belize for two, minus me.
I decided to put it out of my mind. That’s not hard to do, because I’m very forgetful.
Until I went to do some grocery shopping and the very same debit card was declined. DECLINED.
“BUT I NEED THIS FOOD!” I started to protest/audition for Les Miserables. And then I paid for the groceries with cash. Cash that could have been used to buy wine.
After a few more phone calls to Husbandrinka, during which he has properly lawyered up and pleaded ignorance in the fifth degree, I called the bank.
Apparently, the bank claims to have found some suspicious activity on my card and sent me a new card, suspending this one. They were sorry for the inconvenience and I was sorry that I didn’t go through my mail. We agreed that they would overnight the new card to me so that the nation’s economy wouldn’t feel any further adverse effects.
I just hope that I find it in my heart to forgive Husbandrinka.