I was robbed. I was robbed.
Some high-tech, bastard, criminal, sunuvacow asshat somehow duplicated my bank card, and over the course of last weekend, calmly withdrew close to $3000 from my account. Ok? Ok?
I received a call yesterday morning from the bank, and the girl on the other end of the line was asking me all sorts of questions. "Did you go to Lansing over the weekend? What about Shoppers Drug Mart? Anywhere else? And did you make a cash withdrawal at all?" This is when I started to get a little worried, and started badgering her with questions. "Why? Why? What's the matter? What? WHAT? WHAT'S GOING ON?!"
It'll all be fine, however. I was assured that the bank would cover the money for me, and I would get back every red, stolen cent. Here's the thing though: I've been forced to get a new card, and pick a new code, and go without my fundage until I sign some kind of form stating that I didn't, in fact, steal my own money, and then I have to get itnotarized by a lawyer and really, it's all just very inconvenient and distressing.
But I was dealing with it, see? I wasn't getting too angry; I wasn't all up in arms about it. In fact, I was quite pleased (and surprised) about the fact that I was being all mature and philosophical and shoulder-shruggy about it. Until. Un-til. Until I went to the bank, and saw that the bastard criminals had but me $50.00 into overdraft! Overdraft! Me! I may be spendthrifty and silly with my funds, but dammit, I don't. Go into. Overdraft.
And that's when it hit. That's when this tiny ball of anger that was lying dormant in my stomach started to grow into this fiery boulder of molten lava, increasing by tenfold the urge to start kicking desks and chairs and Personal Banking Representatives. How dare they?! How dare they invade my personal banking space, a space I've kept since I was 13 years old and opened up solely on the strength of a much folded birth certificate, my still shaky and slowly executed signature, the promise of a fifteen dollar deposit and the confident claim of "My mother works for the bank! Can I have an account, please?"
Seriously... whoever did this... that's some bad karma you're sending out, buddy. Ok? Bad. Karma.
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