Dear My Credit Card Company:
After choosing the wrong one of my bank accounts from which to make my online payment several months ago (as in, choosing the bank account not even remotely near my home and with about $1.03 in it, but the bank who, thankfully, covered the larger than $1.03 payment - wouldn't that have been a kick in the knickers if they hadn't covered it... - but then they charged me $26.00, rightfully, because I was an airhead, and that's the going rate on stupid), I am now *always* *extra* careful to choose the correct bank account for source of payment because mailing a check to that wrong bank from which payment was incorrectly taken as the only solution at the time (before I linked up them sisters) was a pain in my ass (I don't write checks; this is the two thousands or the tens or whatever the hell we call this time that's no longer those old fogie 90's). All that kind of mish mash fuddle muck causes neurotic freaks like me to become stressed out and have that old thinking thought about wanting to smoke at people/banks/my not always bright self (but I don't smoke any more, actually today is smoke-free day 276, and I hit 9 months yesterday - yay me! - thanks to Chantix, blogpals, and my stubbornness mostly from my dad's side).
Anyway. As I was trying to explain.
I was very careful this time several days ago, as always (well, always since the above fiasco). So painstakingly careful, as always. I chose the correct account, hit "go" (that's "enter" to y'all's webdesigner folks), and walked away. After not very long (about the time it takes to eat a bowl of porridge - yes, really, yummy and healthy porridge - and give all the cats some lovin' since they, too, miss Tom), I decided to be bold and increase the amount of my scheduled payment because, you know, after entirely too blasted long, Tom has a J-O-B now (run, pick your deity of choice, and we'll do whatever little song/dance/that thing with the candle of praise together at said deity).
What I didn't realize, apparently, is that when you change the dollar amount, feeling all happy that you are bumping it up a bit, being responsible, paying less in interest (I have a spreadsheet for that, too, of course), soundly taking care of your biznatch (wait, that means something entirely different, doesn't it?) - yah, well, when you are doing all that? You are apparently confronted again with the "from which bank account shall this upgraded payment be made" choice, except that it must not be displayed so plainly, and instead it must be pretty damn subtle. Far more subtle than the first go when I was in super careful mode.
Nope, so subtle that I didn't realize that. Definitely didn't realize that. At least not until the bastard charge kept not appearing when I checked my bank account on the onlines. So I got smart. I checked that *other* bank account. You know, the one with the $1.03 in it? Yep, that bitch is overdrawn by the exact amount of my generous payment. Minus the $1.03. And now plus $26.00
punishment salt to wound overdraft fee. Then, carry the 1, and multiply by the square root of how many damn lattes that little boo boo cost me (roughly 7, depending on number of shots and other variables).
Why didn't I just delete that rogue account to protect me from future self? Entirely too long story ('cuz you know I'm all about the brevity) involving how long it would take to re-set-up that second bank as a payment source if I got mad at my main bank (which, yah, separate post, I have; surprising, I know). So I left the derelict $1.03 account in place as just a potential method of payment and tried to just be careful to never, not ever, select it. And I was careful. But we saw how that turned out, now didn't we?
In closing, Dear My Credit Card Company, I would just like to ask that you make your fancy online system assume that if I change my mind about the $ amount of a payment I'm making to you fine folks that I'm *not* also changing the goddamn source of said effing payment unless I do the online equivalent of
dancing naked on your desk except for a lime green boa and holding a sign between my... doing something really blatant to indicate that I am intentionally and purposefully doing so. Otherwise, assume no, I'm not.
Not a Happy Maggie