No good, very bad evening

I'm so pissed off right now I'm afraid this keyboard is going to start blaming itself, but here goes. My day, after my no good, very bad morning, was relatively fun and harmless. Tonight, the world has let me down again. It's bigger than Los Angeles. I'm starting to lose faith in my species.

Chapter 1: Fuck Washington Mutual

It all started last week. I have a Bank of America account based in Washington, and a WaMu account based in California. I linked these accounts so I could transfer money between them if I needed to.

Last week, I initiated a transfer of $1,200 from BoA to WaMu so I could write a check paying Dan back for kindly covering my car repairs (see below, "Chapter 2: Fuck Pep Boys"). The transfer would take a few days to post. In the meantime, I hopped up to Canada to spend a long weekend at Whistler with my dad. This seemed like a perfectly acceptable thing to do seeing as I am not on parole.

To get to the point, omitting a detailed account of my horror upon learning this: WaMu froze my account. They killed my online banking, my debit card, and access to my own funds. This was Friday night. Here's what they told me: "You'll have to go into the branch where you opened your account, close your current account, and open a new one."

Even this piece of non-information took hours to extract from four different customer "service" agents, who each pawned me off to (four different) recordings that hung up on me. I talked to four different people because I had to CALL FOUR TIMES. (Oh, shit. I've opened the door to caps lock.) No one told me anything. No one reactivated my account.

Here is the closest I came to acquiring actual information: "Sir, I see there has been a confirmed online banking fraud on your account." "WHAT KIND OF FRAUD?" "You'll have to call back on Monday." Lady, this is not an episode of Alias. I am not interested in cliffhangers when calling the bank about my money.

The situation became especially horrifying when I took a step back: WaMu CUT ME OFF from MY OWN MONEY while I was in a FOREIGN COUNTRY. Sure, it was "only" Canada, but what if it wasn't? Sure, I was with my dad, but what if I wasn't? Those are fucking dangerous chances. WaMu didn't even call to let me know something was up.

Fast-forward to Monday morning back in America. (In the meantime coming within 10 minutes of getting shot.) It takes TWO customer service representatives to finally learn that all this bullshit happened because I transferred money from BoA to WaMu; WaMu identified my BoA account as "closed" (it's not) and flagged my transfer as bank fraud.

To recap: WAMU ACCUSED ME OF STEALING FROM MYSELF.

A WaMu rep eventually called BoA and verified that my account was not closed. You know, BECAUSE IT'S NOT. She supposedly fixed everything and reactivated my account. Thanks, lady, but it's hard to feel grateful when this is all your fucking fault.

Until. I compare my online banking balances for WaMu and BoA and see that my $1,200 is NOT in either account. My $1,200 left BoA, and arrived at a frozen WaMu account. SO WHERE IS MY MOTHERFUCKING $1,200? Yet another call to WaMu reveals, first, "We don't know"; second, after some badgering, "The rejected funds should return to BoA"; third, after some swearing, "The funds should appear in your WaMu account by tomorrow."

(Meanwhile, as all this is going on, my roommate is across the country with a rent check I wrote him when I still trusted my bank to, I don't know, honor something like that. Who knows when he'll try to cash it and incur a bounce penalty on my frozen account?)

Finally, the $1,200 appeared in my WaMu account. But this story is not over.

Chapter 2: Fuck Pep Boys

Never get your car repaired at Pep Boys, because they fucking suck. I hope those Pep Boys, whoever they are, wander too close to the mouth of a volcano, get penis cancer and then tumble into hot lava. At first I thought they were great, based solely on their Google Maps listing: a block away from my job, and open until 9 PM? In your face, Midas McCloses-At-5:30-And-Isn't-Even-Open-On-Sundays.

TOO BAD I handed them the now-mythical $1,200 to do something to my brakes that causes squeaks and groans that weren't there before. Perhaps it's the sound of my strained tolerance for incompetence. I mean, I'll sustain the odd screw-over here and there, in most areas of my life, because I don't like giving people a hard time. Also, it makes me feel like something will go right later on to make up for it. (It is impossible to measure the validity of this theory, as who knows how many nun-clowns DON'T jump out and tear your face off each and every day?)

Pep Boys told me I would have to bring the car back in for a part they would special order from the dealer. Tonight, that's what I did. Finally, I thought, My car will be all taken care of. Can you guess where this story is going?

When I pick up my car tonight, the guy tells me someone accidentally left a tube loose before starting my engine, so the "service engine soon" light won't turn off even though the car is supposedly "fine." I have to come back in this weekend so they can artifically disable the "service engine soon" light. Free of charge! Why, how generous of them! Hopefully, when I die as a result of that light not coming on when it's supposed to, some of my blood will find its way onto their hands.

And then it's time to pay for this follow-up visit. Which brings us to our final installment...

Chapter 3: Still Fuck Washington Mutual

What do you think happens when I try to pay Pep Boys with my newly reactivated debit card? It's declined, of course. It does not work because it is nothing but a piece of plastic. It's not money. When you trust a bank, that plastic becomes synonymous with your money. BUT SOMETIMES YOUR BANK TELLS YOU YOUR MONEY IS YOURS AGAIN, WHEN IT REALLY ISN'T.

Fortunately, I have my BoA card and there's enough money in there to cover it. I promptly get on the phone with WaMu, whose customer service methods have not changed as I am transferred to three different people before someone tells me, basically, "Sorry." Not "Sorry, our bad," but "Sorry, too bad." My debit card has been deactivated; more accurately, it was never reactivated in the first place.

No one will tell me why this has happened, nor can they undo it. It also seems that the woman who told me everything was back to normal was a big fucking liar. I am instructed ONCE AGAIN to visit the branch where I opened the account and solve the problem in person. Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

You know, some people say they don't have time for this shit, but I REALLY don't have time for this shit. I work from 9 AM to midnight and in that time period I'm already dealing with perverts hitting my car, poorly designed parking garages, and LA traffic that means a "quick" trip to the bank can take an hour.

An hour ago, I was like, "This is so fucking stupid, I'm about to cry on the phone with WaMu Douchebag #28." Now, I can't stop laughing because it's utterly and completely ridiculous. This must be some kind of practical joke or a touching dramedy where Will Smith is down on his luck and runs through the street a lot.

Maybe you'll spot me tearing down the street tomorrow, running like hell to Washington Mutual so I can close my account before they drown my kitties or have my grandmother shot.