Skip to main content

How Chip and PIN saved my life

I am not by nature a lazy man. I am not by nature a man inclined to let his life slide out of control, either. However I am a man who simply hates dealing with certain things, namely banking employees at the other end of a phone line. It's just the entire rigmarole of being shuffled from one bored and harrassed school-leaver to another until my simple request is granted. I get round this problem by avoiding it.

Now, I am relatively prudent, I have credit cards, but the sums on them are dealable with (though moderately hefty when totalled up), one of my credit cards dates from my student days, and still bears the scars of a slightly more carefree me, the other is a recent acquisition. I decided to do something adult and sensible, and get a credt card with a low rate to tranfer ruinously high interest rate store cards onto (and I'm boring myself). I steeled myself to the task, completed the necessary forms, made the necessary phone calls through gritted teeth (why the hell did I get a payment protection thing in the first place? I've missed two days off sick in my entire life! What's that cost me? Grr etc) and it was done. Two outstanding balances to deal with. Nice. I felt quite the grown up. The lurking danger being that that's two credit cards still lurking in my wallet, waiting for the day when I simply have to have new trainers and there's no cash extant.

No problem. the new card is chip and PIN, that spectacular collision of protection methods which leads to rapidly accumulating bad-tempered queues at checkouts nationwide. I dutifully memorised the PIN and consumed the paper before setting fire to myself as instructed. Then I forgot the PIN. Card unusable save for repayments, unless I make one of those phone calls I described up-post, which is not going to happen. One down.

Ah, but what about card number two? The trusty warhorse which bought the vast majority of my CD collection? I know the PIN, there's no real excuse. Except it's a replacement card, which won't be activated until I call the bank. The account remains active, I can still make repayments, but I can't use the card. Perfect! Laziness kids, it'll help you in the long run.

In other news my birthday was enormous fun, not that I can remember a great deal, with far more people turning up than I'd envisaged. Huge thanks to all, especially Porl for making the trip. I was equally surprised to see that I had a birthday thread on ILE, which I really wasn't expecting at all. That itself put me in a good mood for most of the day due to it's unexpectedness. I really must thank Archel (how on earth did she know?) for that. Week's highlights have included a trip to the Warehoouse in Preston where, oddly, there was very little drinking but a lot of dancing, haven't done that for a while, and last night's fairly hilarious trip to the pub where a stone cold sober Alex and Sam had to deal with a ferociously battered me and Jim. They were stoical. We were in hysterics.

Oh, and the plot for this year's NaNoWriMo is sorted. So I've done something constructive. Well done me.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...

Chop chop

I was completely ignorant of the fuss over the edited Trump speech in an edition of Panorama until, one moment later, I wasn't. And the reasons for my ignorance are instructive. I had no idea that the story was even brewing until the surprise Sunday night news of the resignations of Tom Davie and Deborah Turness. As I'm sure you are by now aware, this was occasioned by a clumsy edit in an old edition of Panorama, which has already been on the iplayer for a year. It's a non-story. Except people decided to make it a story. The reason I'd heard nothing of it until the resignations was that I'm not on X, where, apparently, it was all the media classes had been talking about for a week. It was an obsession of the unholy right-wing trifecta of the Mail, Telegraph and Times (who, given that they sent a bloke just last week to interview the wrong Bill di Blasio, you'd think would wind their necks in over factual inacccuracy). It was big news on GB news, all self-contain...

Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer.  That deserves prison.  No , I'm referring to the hinterla...