Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Too Many Numbers

I've always said one day my head was going to implode with all the numbers and passwords it has to hold.  I once heard a comedian say he envisioned losing such information every time he sneezed.

                         "A-choo!  There goes my date of birth."

                         "A-choo!  There goes grandma's phone number."

                         "A-choo!  There goes my debit card code."

                         "A-choo!  And there goes my street address."


Today was my day.  And I never even sneezed.

I was running a last minute errand of Stuff-to-get-Hubby-before-his-big-trip during Lunch.  I'd gone to Lunch late because one of the senior citizens wanted to talk to me about another one we fear is getting Alzheimer's.  She then segued to how forgetful she's getting and I politely reassured her it happens to all of us.  I even jokingly added, "It's this building you know.  I'm fine at home but it's easy to forget here."  She laughed and left happy.

Finding the item necessitated a call to Hubby, who was having telephone problems at work.  Seems he answered one phone, no one spoke, yet his "back up" phone kept ringing.  When he answered it, there I was, talking a mile a minute about his shopping request.  Question answered, I headed to check out.  But the cashier had disappeared.  I often joke about feeling the need to carry a large red flag to wave at the register because there's so much junk stacked next to them, vertically challenged me sometimes gets lost.  A young woman literally yelled from the other side of the store, "Be right there!"   I nodded.  Whether she saw that or not, I have no idea.  

She signed in to her register and I gave her my shopper's card, which honestly I have come to hate.  It's suppose to save money, but cashiers no longer tell you, "Hey, you have points that will take $$ off today's purchase."   So I asked...because I'd gotten an e-mail last week wondering why I hadn't used my points.  Sigh.  

It was one task too many for my young cashier.  She finally answered me, but by then had started beating on the computerized register because the screen had frozen.  She tried to restart it and failed.  The man behind me, about six foot 12 if he was an inch, sighed loudly.  The girl called for help and that cashier literally grabbed my stuff up and directed me to the next register, telling the girl to just wait a moment.  As Tall Man stood there, looking confused, I invited him and his one item to go ahead of me.  He was shocked.  Grateful, but shocked.  He even declined getting his own shopper card so as not to hold me up.  I wanted to tell him to just run and not even contemplate it.

So we tried again, this new cashier and I, with me nodding about the points question because the young girl was yelling that I had points to use.  I'm sure everyone in the store wondered if I was just cheap or I had THAT many points.  I then had to remember to type in the zip code for the street the store was on, not my home address, because the original cashier who'd given me this stupid shopping card had plugged in the wrong info.  The kind lady asked if I'd like to change it and I assured her it wasn't a priority.  Truth is, I was glancing at my watch to see how much lunch hour was left.

I swiped my Debit card and typed in the code.  She gave me a frozen smile and asked me to enter it again.  I did.  She frowned...politely.  My second take wasn't any better.  As I was about to dig into my purse for, heaven help me CASH, she said, "I'll just run it as credit, same thing.  Just hit that button."  I did, it worked and everything was fine.

Except me.

Walking out the door, I kept wondering what went wrong.  With all those little **** covering the numbers I had no idea what had gone wrong.  Was all this Alzheimer's talk getting to me?  Was Alzheimer's reaching for me?

I placed my purchase on my desk and looked down at the number keypad on my computer.  I allowed my fingers to press what I thought was the same numbers I'd used in the store.  And then I figured it out.

I'd tried to enter our alarm code.

Sigh.

And then I giggled.  Diagnosis: overloaded brain, not disease addled one.

My vacation mid-month cannot get here fast enough.

2 comments:

savannah said...

We used letters and numbers! The coconut krewe made us change everything! I had no idea we were so insecure! ;) xoxoxo

hope said...

Sav: what I hate is that the BANK decides the PIN and I have to come up with a way to remember it. Which is okay...until you're in charge of as many password type stuff as I am!

I finally wrote it all down and put it in the safe...which is great unless I forget the combination. :)