The other morning as I pulled up to the window at Starbucks, I was feeling good. I looked pretty cute, it wasn't humid out, I was feeling ready to dive into some work. All in all the day (which admittedly I was only about 30 minutes into) was shaping up splendidly. Then my sweet little barista turned to me and said "I'm so sorry, but your card was declined. I ran it twice..." I turned t my wallet, realized i had approximately $2 in cash, and politely explained I didn't have cash, apologized, thanked her for her service and pulled away.
That was the end of my good mood. Firstly, I had just been deprived of my morning coffee. I don't drink coffee every day, and I don't need it to function, but sipping on the sweet, caffeinated concoction is a very pleasant part of my morning. So to keep it simple, I was freaking pissed.
I knew exactly what had happened. I had just received my new chip-enabled debit card in the mail, and my bank had disabled my current card. Instead of accepting this with some dignity, I instead became utterly indignant. You would have thought I was being unfairly detained in Guantanamo the way I acted. "How DARE they!" I fumed as I drove to work.
I also then realized that I had chosen this day as the one I would buy myself lunch, meaning I had no food at work, and no money to buy anything with. Now the bank had interfered with my coffee and the cookie I had been planning on enjoying with my Jimmy John's sandwich. First my coffee, then my cookie. I was craving justice more than John McClane in Die Hard.
As I left work and drove home to get the new chip card (which I now despised with a burning passion) I began practicing my speech for when I would either have to call my bank, or pay a visit to a local branch. You've been there. That moment where you feel so disrespected and unfairly treated that you rehearse exactly what you'll say to the customer service rep in the hopes of making them cry and beg for mercy.
It was in this moment that I realized something very, very painful. I sighed, closed my eyes, and muttered "Fuck" as paused at a stoplight. I groaned as the realization that this entire situation was completely my fault dawned on me. Sure, I hadn't gotten the card for over 2 weeks since I requested it, and yes I had tried to call the activation number multiple times over the weekend with no success, but that didn't matter. It was Thursday, and I knew damn well that I easily could have run to the ATM sometime over the past 4 days to activate the card.
Let me tell you, few things feel as bad as realizing you're to blame, after you've already morphed into Godzilla and smashed half the city. I felt overwhelmed with guilt for the hypothetical bank teller I had made cry. I took a few deep breaths. Gave myself a stern, but well mannered scolding that would make my mother proud, and moved on with my day.
I'll admit I was tempted to remain firmly planted in my bad mood, regaling everyone who would listen with the story of injustice. I could remain in my delusion and easily ignore the reality that was staring back at me with a raised eyebrow, but now. I owned up to my mistake, took responsibility for it, and just like Starbucks had done to my debit card that morning, I declined my bad attitude.
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