Living on Reserve

While I was at my mom's for Thanksgiving, I called the debit card company to learn how to transfer my tax refund to my bank account, so I can actually use the money for something.  (My prediction, in my previous post, was correct that I had to speak with someone for whom English is not his first language*.)

Now that I know the problem (that the prepared script he was reading off a computer screen was incorrect), I can't even tell him what was wrong.  All right, I suppose I could call back and ask for a supervisor or something, but that person is just going to think that the person who took my call must have misspoken, rather than admit that their prepared script might contain mistakes, so why bother calling?

Anyway, what the guy told me was that I would have to call back and enter my card number then my PIN.  "What PIN?" I asked.  (Yes, it goes downhill from here.)  Well, the PIN that was supposed to be sent to me in a separate mailing, of course.  Unfortunately, since I wasn't in the city where my mail is delivered, I couldn't see if the PIN had arrived since I left town.  "Just tell me the rest of the process, and I'll write it down, so I can do it whenever I get my PIN," I requested.

That's where the second SNAFU happened. After entering my Social Security number and zip code, the guy told me that I would have to enter the amount I want transferred.  Then the voice mail system would ask me to confirm the last four digits of my checking account number.

"Wait," I asked, "How is the system going to know the account number, if I haven't yet told it my account number?"  Of course, "Alex" didn't know.  He was just reading what was on the screen.

I learned the answer to that dilemma this morning.  That step was not in the process at all.  I entered my routing and account numbers myself, at the end of the process.  Mind you, that was after I dealt with two other problems.

First, I saw (in remarkably large print on the mailing which contained my card, which means that it's important information, which I must skip over) that I had to call a toll-free number to set up my PIN in the first place.  (Sorry, Alex, but you got that wrong, too.)  Doing so was remarkably easy and error-free.  The voice mail system even told me how much money was on the card.

Second, I made the call to transfer the balance to my checking account, but I mis-entered my Social Security number and couldn't correct it.  Not only is this the first voice mail system I've encountered that doesn't repeat what I've entered and give me the options to accept or to correct it, but it's the first one that wouldn't tell me that I would have to hang up and start over.  (It asked me three times to proceed, ignored my ranting, and finally disconnected the call by itself.)

When I called back to try again, the real problem started.  The system claimed I didn't have sufficient funds on the card to transfer.  "But you just told me the amount!" I argued (not that it does any more good to talk at the phone than it does to talk at the TV).  Hang up and start over.

This time, as I proceeded through my option-pushing, I heard the voice system tell me that there would be a charge, taken from my balance, for transferring the funds to a bank.  (I must have been ranting during the previous call, so I didn't hear this the first time.)  However, the voice did not say how much the charge would be.  (That would have been helpful, after all.)

Hang up.  Reread mailing.  See (in small print, on the backside of the mailing, toward the bottom) that there is a $0.75 charge to transfer funds to a bank account.  Sigh and grumble again.  Redial the toll-free number and push-button myself through the process.

This time, I entered the balance of my card, less the $0.75 fee, and it worked!  Really?!  Seriously?! Even more of a miracle, this is where the system started repeating the numbers I entered and asking me to confirm or correct them!

So, I have my money now -- or I will, in two days.  I have enough food to go on with, but I'd really like to buy myself some milk for my breakfast cereal, and to have something other than water to drink.  Oh well, at least I'll be able to go to my bank branch inside the grocery store to verify the transfer then pick up a gallon while I'm there.

* A helpful hint to all telemarketers in non-English speaking countries:  You may say your name is Alex, but that's not going to override your accent.  Starting off our discourse with a lie is going to frustrate me even before I state my problem that you're unable to help me with.