Life Journal | Talking to Phone Robots

You know, a big part of growing up involves phones.
This is terrible news, because not only do I hate phones I also know next to nothing about bank accounts.
Right. That was me who wrote down the wrong password and locked myself out of my online bank account.

So, it was me who finally set about (like a week later) to reset my password and call the help line.
I had to call the robot at least ten times before I finally understood what all the different numbers for phone extensions stood for. It took another call for me to find the illusive dial-pad on my phone. The dial pad. WHY IS THAT SO HARD TO FIND?!??!
(Wow. I'm going to get far in life. . .)
I listened to Brahms Waltz (why was that the background music?) and the nice lady on the phone ad before a cheerful lady abruptly ended nice-ad-lady-robot and asked what was up.

What was up?
"uh. um. uh. ummmm....I locked myself out of my bank account...so...yeeeeeaaaah."
(inwardly screaming about how stupid that just sounded)

She knew more about my problem then I did. She fixed it for me somehow. She's a magician, I'm telling you.
And that's my first experience with phone robots, locked bank accounts, and 1-800 numbers.

P.s. On the side of random: I found this picture stuffed in the archives of my webcam. I think Sarah gets the credit for this one:
P.P.S. This was before I accidentally cut THIS boy's hair next-to-bald. Oops.

1 comment

  1. hahaha. banks are confusing. it took me three tries to deposit money yesterday . . . it was like they didn't want to take it or something. idk.


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Maira Gall