I have a cell phone. I have a cell phone I hardly ever use. I have a cell number. I have no idea what it is. It's written down somewhere on some assorted dry cleaning ticket in the bottom of one of my handbags. Whenever I'm filling out paperwork I leave that blank....well....blank.
My husband has a cool phone. Square, sleek, internet access. "Ooooh, I want one!" Most days it's like a cement block around his neck. On the weekends it rings, buzzes, vibrates on the kitchen hutch.
I signed up for internet banking several months ago. I've been a To The Penny checkbook balancer from way back. I like writing in the columns, using decimal points, having everything come out as it should. I've been told this is "old school." Annoyed tellers on the other end of the phone suggest I sign up for online banking and blah blah blah it's so convenient. I'm told I can even pay my bills online, eliminating the need for bothersome envelopes and stamps.
I sign up. I log on. I'm ready to pay my bills through some ethernet cables and tin cans and string and monkeys on either end who will transmit my electronic funds to God knows where. None of my existing accounts show up on screen. I call the bank. For mortgage dial 2. For access to loans and equity lines of credit dial 3. I just keep pushing zero. "Hi, I signed up for on line banking and am having a problem paying some of my bills?" "Well, shouldn't that information already be there?" "Oh, I have to manually type in the payees and their addresses?" Well that's not very convenient!
I'm back to buying stamps at the post office and sitting in front of my computer writing out checks.
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