I’ve misplaced a brain cell. Not just any brain cell; the one containing the pin number to my checking account. To be fair, it wasn’t a pin of my choice, but when first given to me two years ago after a large bank gobbled up my small bank, it seemed easy enough to remember and so I kept it.
I love ATMs. Just the idea that you can put in a plastic card and it gives you money never fails to thrill me. I usually take out $20 at a time. Sure I could take out $100, but then I wouldn’t get to play the game as often. With most of my thrills behind me, I cling to little shit like this.
It’s just a tad pathetic. I know. Where was I?
Oh, yes: The missing brain cell. Because I rarely carry a lot of cash, I use my debit card like a slot machine junkie at a casino and I’ve probably punched in that same pin number hundreds of times always confident that it was lodged securely in my brain and it was – until this past week.
Trader Joe’s on a Saturday afternoon is not the time or place you want to have a brain fart.
With a month’s worth of cheap wine and pumpkin ice cream already packaged up I slid my debit card through the slot like a pro and that’s when it happened: “Enter Pin Number.” As surely as if someone had robbed me at gunpoint, the goddamn brain cell charged with the retaining of that information was nowhere to be found. I knew it started with a two and ended with a zero. You’d think with enough combinations I could have hit on it, “enough” being the key word here. But you don’t get enough. You only get three tries and then you’re locked out. Fuck.
The line of people behind me was not amused when I had to pull out my checkbook – yes, a checkbook – and write out the payment in longhand on paper like some relic from an era now studied in high school history classes. As I pushed my cart from the store I’m pretty sure I heard one of them mutter “poor thing.”
I know our body sheds and replaces cells all the time, but lately I feel like I’m getting short-shifted on the replacement part. I suspect the brain cell containing the pin number ran off with the brain cell containing my Facebook password, which I also had to replace recently.
Why the hell can’t I lose fat cells this easily?