Angela

It seemed so simple.

We'd run a total of $637 through the credit card machine and somehow the bank had only been sent $437. I dreaded calling the merchants services people and wisely took a pre-emptive aspirin, telling myself it was really a patience pill.

I explained it once, then twice, then a third time. The young woman, Angela, wasn't inspiring much confidence in me.

“We ran three cards,” I heard myself saying wearily for the 4^th time, “One for $200, one for $237, and then another for $200. I'm looking at the report and it says we ran a total of $637 but there was only $437 sent to the bank. All I want to know is where the $200 has gone.”

“Which $200 does the bank not have?” Angela wanted to know.

I paused to let what she was asking me sink in thoroughly then exploded.

“Are you dim?” I shouted at her, “How the hell do I know which $200 the bank doesn't have!”

I took a breath and counted to 10 (twice).

“Look,” I said tightly, “We ran three transactions.....”

“Oh, I see that,” she assured me brightly, “They're all here.”

“Okay, good, they're all there. Making grand progress, aren't we.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I've stumbled into a dead zone, I thought to myself and for a long moment, language and speech deserted me. All I could think was that we're doomed, overrun and overwhelmed by stupidity.

There's no cure.

“Angela.” I finally said calmly while every fiber of me wanted to crawl through the telephone and strangle the life out of her. Slowly.

“Angela,” I said again, “ Maybe I wasn't quite clear. Let me put this another way. We ran $637 in credit cards and sent it to you so you could send it to the bank. The bank only got $437 which is a $200 shortage. In other words, Angela, WHERE'S THE F**KING MONEY?”

Whether it was the obscenity or the decibel level or the combination of the two, I may never know but Angela finally seemed to realize that some sort of action on her part was required. She apologized for the trouble and promised me she would do everything in her power to resolve it. Could I send her a copy of our transaction tape and give her 24 hours to investigate, she asked.

Yes, I told her, I could do that.

True to her word, a day later she had tracked down the missing money and re-directed it and the bank confirmed it. I never learned where it had gone or why and by that time, I didn't really give a damn. I had a very faint twinge at guilt at losing my temper but it passed.