I was issued a new debit card today. Got it in the snailmail. I knew it was coming. Was looking out for it, expecting the name of the bank that issued it would be printed on the envelope.

It wasn't. Almost threw it away. Didn't. Opened the envelope and there it was. The card, the plastic card, another card, another PIN #. One more notch on the bedpost, more plastic proof the act we're in is the last one.

Drove to the bank,pulled up to the ATM. Inserted the card into the slot. Punched in the PIN # I'd punched into the system on Monday...

The card was ejected, rejected, inserted, rejected, ejected, inserted again. Nothing was happening. I wasn't getting what I wanted. This was so UnAmerican. Here I was sticking a plastic card into a slot, expecting to get money out...

And all I got was frustrated. Angry. Didn't get what was coming to me, that to which I was...

Entitled.

Half hour later. I'm calling the bank that issued the card. I'm trying to get confirmed the PIN # selected. I get the voice mail, HAL-like, 2001 a space odyssey disembodied voice that says:

In Spanish. Something I can't understand.

I wait. For English to be spoken. And, eventually, it is. With a thick Pakestani accent...

I've read the FAQs. I know what's supposed to be happening. I'm supposed to be getting connected to a machine, that will recognize my voice and solve the problem I have.

But this afternoon, all I get are human beings, whom I can't understand...