It was getting on toward April and, as usual, I had procrastinated.
Last week, I took the signed title for the Scion xB that my stepfather gave me and proceeded to the DMV office in Southhills strip mall, off Buck Jones Road. The last time I made this trip was to make the old Honda Accord a legitimate North Carolina automobile. It had cost me about $90.
So, on the way to the DMV this time, I withdrew $100 in cash. They don't take debit cards at the DMV - just cash and checks. I didn't bring a checkbook. See, I was in the Cub Scouts, but only for about a week. Preparedness is for the weak!
In all fairness, Karen didn't think my logic was too sound when I told her that I'd only take $100 to the DMV. She thought the title transfer cost might be based on the value of the car. The Scion is much newer than the Honda and could actually yield a higher fee.
Did I listen? Well, I listened, sure! But did I do anything about the contingency?
Heck, no!
I arrived at the DMV at about 8:45, right after they opened. This would give me plenty of time to make it back to work for the scrum meeting at 9:30. The line? Non-existent! I walked right up to the counter, handed over the title, my driver's license, and proof of insurance.
Everything was going along just fine. The clerk had the new tag and registration, all ready to shove into my grubby hands. Then she told me it'd cost $280.
Well, that's the price of throwing caution to the wind, isn't it?
"I don't have that much on me," I confessed. "Is there an ATM nearby?"
She directed me to the kiosk in the corner of the room. Excellent! I walked over, slid my card in the slot, and asked for MORE DAMNED MONEY.
But the ATM cried out: "No hiding place!" Or something to that effect.
I ran the card through a couple more times. No luck.
"Is there ANOTHER machine?" I asked the clerk.
She directed me down the hall to the next ATM. I slid the card in the slot of that machine. But the ATM cried out: "CAN'T DO THIS NOW!" I repeated the effort again and again. Nothing.
Now I'm getting pissed.
Back to the DMV, where I tell the clerk I'll be right back. There's a Suntrust Bank in the outparcel of the strip mall. I jump in the Juicebox - the Scion - and scoot on over to the bank. It is now about 9 a.m. I run the debit card through the slot. But the ATM cried out: "CAN'T DO THIS NOW!" It could not do this now several more times.
Now I'm seething. But I know there's a Bank of America branch about two miles away. I get back in the Juicebox. A few minutes later, I'm standing at the BoA ATM at Walnut and Maynard. But the ATM cried out: "CAN'T DO THIS NOW!"
At this point, I'm theorizing that the banks are REALLY holding on tight to MY money, so I go into the bank office itself. I walk up to the teller and explain that I'd really like to take my money to the DMV so I can get my license plate out of hock.
The teller confirms that I've got the money available. She's certainly willing to hand over the cash. But FIRST she wants to tell me about some senseless new bank account initiatives that will somehow make the bank money in the long run. All I want to do is get back to the DMV so I can hopefully make it back to work in time for the sprint meeting.
As I'm driving back to the DMV, my iPhone rings. It's an automated recording from Bank of America whining about irregular activity from my debit card. The message, which I'm listening to without benefit of paper or pen, insists that I call back and enter a specific alphanumeric code to deal with this matter. If I don't deal with the problem by April 1, well, the recording indicates that a hold might be placed on my account.
Well, now I'm just plain furious.
I return to the DMV, hand over the cash, take my change and license plate, and then I head back to work. It's 9:40 by the time I arrive, so I've missed the sprint meeting.
I'm not sitting in my desk even 20 minutes before I get an email from Bank of America. Rather than waiting until April 1, they've decided to go ahead and place a hold on my debit card. It's for the good of us all, apparently. The email indicates I have to call a special number to confirm the strange activity came from me.
All full of hope that I'll get to call a real person and go blue in the face shrieking at them, my dreams are thwarted by another recording. Essentially, I'm just required to hit "1" over and over again as it runs down every single attempt I made to take money out of my account that morning.
Not much satisfaction there.
But the Juicebox is now really, seriously, no kidding officially mine now. Huzzah!