I’ve said it before and those close to me will confirm that ridiculous things happen to me every day. It’s true and usually I don’t mind. I end up with a few funny stories to tell, often at my own expense.
But this time, after being kicked out of a cab and having to find creative ways to scrounge for change for my lunch due to an inability to swallow my pride and borrow, my dilemma is stressful and it’s just not (that) funny.
It’s a long story, as any one of my colleagues, flatmates, friends, family, or even strangers I’ve shared a bus seat with lately will attest.
But put simply, through no fault of my own I’ve been unable to access my cash, pay my bills or use my credit card for three weeks, and it’s been painful.
When I discovered my new credit card had been sent to an old address I didn’t mind. We all make mistakes. It would be stopped for security purposes, how thoughtful.
I almost felt relieved to be without my card and its accompanying debt for a few days, I might even learn a thing or two about budgeting, I thought.
Until on a taxi ride the following day I found myself unable to access my savings. We ended up circling the block as I argued with the Commonwealth Bank, on the phone, but eventually the cabbie had the last word, screaming fare evasion and booting me out of his car.
It was the start of a bad day in a long series of bad days since.
But again I looked on the bright side. After all ridiculous things happen to me every day.
I enjoyed going to the bank to withdraw my weekly allowance, I told myself it was fun. I returned to a simpler time before pin numbers, withdrawal fees and internet banking. All I had to worry about were the coins in my pocket.
Until of course those funds dried up and my new card still had not arrived.
There were more bank problems. And as the banking errors mounted so too did my bills. I was constantly told it would all be fixed in two days, then every two days found out a card had not yet been issued or sent to an incorrect address.
Between these infuriating revelations were calls from my phone provider threatening to cut off my mobile service, and my online subscriptions were expiring unable to be renewed. Eventually the card arrived, but it was no good in an ATM.
I was spending far too much time at my local branch and the stress was piling on. The enjoyment of making regular trips to the bank and rationing my cash like a little old lady was starting to wear off.
Now it’s been three weeks and I’m still flying into a panic when I look at the clock minutes after four, realising I haven’t made it to the bank and it’s leftovers for dinner again.
I can’t help but think the lack of urgency my case was afforded might be in some way related to the balance of the accounts in question. Would this have been so drawn out if the card was in the name of, say, Gina Rinehart? I’d say it’s pretty unlikely.
Elizabeth Burke is The Weekly’s youngest writer. Click here to follow her on Twitter and here to follow The Weekly.
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