“They” finally turned it off.
Six or seven years they’ve been sending me those Visa debit cards, and six or seven years I’ve been throwing them in the filing cabinet. (Would have just thrown them away, but you never know when the big kibosh is coming.)
Well, it came last week sometime. I found out today trying to use it. Incidentally, the damned ATM lets you go all the way through the transaction—like, you’re standing there waiting for your money—before telling you to go to hell and spitting your card back.
That is really obnoxious. Though I don’t know anything specific about ATM programming, I suspect it’s also preventable.
I carried this very card for 17 years. Its PIN was the first I ever had, and the only one I’ve ever given myself in other places, when I’ve had a choice. Now an interloper debit card has replaced it, and brought an interloper PIN with it.
I was going to hold this up as another manifestation of my selective Luddism, but it’s not, really. I think this is more in the “creature of habit” vein.
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