I don’t think it’s normal to open up the website of your ex-bank and feel more than a twinge of sadness and regret and “What could we have done differently?” But that, my friends, is a glimpse into my psyche that speaks volumes.
For instance, do you know how long I had an AOL account? Five years. 1998 to 2003. Do you know when I stopped using it? 2002. I realized that AOL was a complete fucking joke some time around…early 1999 (I’m slow). But I kept it because I felt bad. This also explains why I keep every stub from my movie tickets and why it upset me to kick the soccer ball during gym.
I have all of these FEELINGS, which is fine, but they don’t make a lick of sense.
Like why did I get all excited when I was going through stuff at my mom’s house the other day and found my stub from seeing Clueless in the theater in 1995?
Oh, but I also found a bunch of notes from my friends that I kept that I need to scan or transcribe because they are awesome. (***Note to young’uns: “notes” are a primitive form of adolescent communication that pre-date the widespread use of email, IM, and text messages. These notes were written in ink or pencil on looseleaf paper, intricately folded, and then hand-delivered. See also: the effing Pony Express.)
Anyway. I did end up closing my account at the bank yesterday. It wasn’t very dramatic. They did not want to refund all of the overdraft fees because the whole thing resulted from my error, which was not getting the husband’s endorsement on the check which was made out to both of us. And, you know, fair enough. I do not subscribe to the “customer is always right” school of thought because…well, it’s bullshit. And I acknowledged my oversight and explained that I understood the bank’s position, but previous experience (like, when I deposited all of the checks from our wedding without incident) led me to believe that there wouldn’t be a problem and as a loyal customer I wanted us to kiss and make up.
They said no. I said that I wanted to close my account immediately. I am not a millionaire or a large corporation. But I’ve had that account since I was 19 years old. And the fact that they didn’t even blink an eye about losing me as a customer sealed the deal.
Then today, the dude that I dealt with called and pleasantly let me know that I owe the bank $65 before they can consider us split.
This is seriously the most bullshit break up I’ve ever gone through. I should’ve gotten a pre-nup.
So, tomorrow, I’m going to go down there with $65 and I’m going to feel like Paul McCartney doing it, too. “Here, Heather…I mean PNC. Here’s your $65 THAT YOU SO TOTALLY NEED I’M SO SURE HAVE FUN WITH YOUR EPONYMOUS BALL PARK OH SHIT I MISSED MY BUS!”
The husband and I were cooking up horrible things to do to the cash before handing it over, like rubbing it with various bodily fluids. I don’t think I’ll allow that to actually happen, though.
But I do want to do SOMETHING to express my dissatisfaction and, well, how hurt (but totally not surprised) I am that they don’t even care to see me go. Perhaps I will press my butt cheeks against the glass.
Or maybe I’ll just write them a letter. THAT’LL SHOW ‘EM.