My bank hates me. No, really.

Thursday morning, 9:oo:03 a.m., I call the credit union. The automated system picks up:

"Press 8 to activate or deactivate a card. Press 1 for the Call 24 automated teller service. Press 2 to (blah blah blah) ... " (30 seconds later) "At any time during this message, you can press 0 to speak to a call center representative." Note: This is the very last part of the message, so they might as well reword it to say, "At any time during this message you could have pressed 0 to talk to a call center representative if we'd bothered to tell you that was an option, LOSER."

I try very hard not to throw my cell phone out the car window, because with my luck, I'd be pegged with the $500 Tennessee litterbug fine. I press zero.

"There are (pause) 18 (pause) calls ahead of you. Your estimated wait time is (pause) 5 (pause) minutes."

I bite my lip, remembering that Memphis cops are now pulling people over for talking on their cell phone while driving. I mean, hey, this is important.

At this point, I listen to approximately 12 minutes of cheerful credit union messages played over poorly chosen and poorly executed Muzak. "Know someone with bad credit?" (No.) "Well, we're here to help. Ask us how when your call is answered." (As if that's ever going to happen.)

After what seems like forever (i.e. my entire commute into work), the phone rings.

Her: "Thank you for calling MATCU (blah blah blah). How can I help you today?"
Me: I'm trying to figure out what's up with my debit card. My husband and I have tried to use it a couple of times in the last two days, and I've been told it's not being accepted. I'm wondering if I've worn down the magnetic strip, or if there's a problem with my account, or whatever.
Her: "Well, let's see here. What's your name?"
Me: (At this point, I start to grit my teeth. I've already given her my account information, and now she has to verify my name ... and my Social Security Number ... et cetera ad nauseum. I slowly, angrily, verify my information.)
Her: "Hmm, well ... okay. Now, did you receive a replacement card we sent you on March 1?"
Me: (I feel like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out his ears.) "No, I didn't receive the replacement card you sent me on March 1 ... nor did I know one was coming."
Her: "Well, yes. Visa shut down this card on March 21. I can order you another replacement card ...
Me: "And until then, I just have to ...
Her: "... use cash."

It wouldn't be such a big deal if the credit union hadn't done the exact same thing to me around this time last year, leaving me in an embarrassing lurch one night after treating myself to a sinus massage at a Downtown spa. I ended up putting it on my one single credit card, but I never showed my face in that spa again.

I'm beginning to think security at the credit union consists of a half-dozen monkeys armed with duct tape and hordes of replacement debit cards to throw at customers every few months.

If I wasn't so lazy, I'd look for another bank. They're benefitting from my complete lack of motivation.