Beep-boop-beep-boop

Yesterday (Saturday, June 23, 2007) our new Chase-Visa credit-cards arrived.
Every three years Chase issues us replacement credit-cards; i.e. our old Chase cards expire (in this case August of this year), so they send us new cards.
The account-number is the same, but expiration is August of 2010, and the three-digit security code is apparently different.
It’s not the same account-number we originally had. That account got closed when someone other than us began charging ‘pyooter purchases willy-nilly.
The bank caught that, and apparently ate it.
And so began our current account-number.
Our new cards had to be activated; a call to an 800-number from our landline. (What if we didn’t have a landline?)
“Welcome to Chase account-services!” a machine bubbled.
“Please enter the last four digits of your account!”
Beep-boop-beep-boop.
“Would you like to add a PIN-number?” it foamed.
“Well okay,” I thought; “I’ll never use it, but......” Beep-boop-beep-boop.
“Please reenter your PIN-number for verification purposes.”
Beep-boop-beep-boop.
“You have successfully added a PIN-number!” it cheered.
“Your call is being transferred; please hold during the silence......”
“Boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka.....”
“Your call may be monitored by mindless management minions for quality-control purposes......”
“And what can I do for you?” some disembodied voice in India asked.
“An actual human,” I thought. “Holy mackerel!”
“And how are you today?” he asked, reading from a script.
“I have new credit-cards that need to be activated,” I said.
“First and last names please......”
“Robert Hughes; H-U-G-H-E-S.”
“2403 State Route 65, Bloomfield?”
“Yep; that’s me,” I said.
“What is your date of birth?”
“2/5/44.”
“Are you sure your birth-year is 1944?”
“Oh for crying out loud!” I thought. “What a pathetic attempt to stroke me.”
“I’m absolutely certain,” I yelled. “February 5, 1944 at Cooper Hospital in Camden, New Jersey.”
I know I’m supposed to be diplomatical, but this was outrageous.
“Are you sure you don’t mean 1984? You don’t sound like 1944.”
“Good grief! I have absolutely no doubt at all of when I was born.”
“Your card is activated. Would you like to customize it; change your billing-date; add family-members?”
“The date you bill me is fine,” I said. “I see no reason to change it.”
“Add family-members?”
“None to add, unless you wanna add my dog; but he hasn’t needed it yet. —We did receive an additional card for my wife; is that activated?”
“Yes.”
“Do you wanna save money?”
“No!”
“Do you wanna add theft-protection?”
“Pass!”
“I could loan you $10,000 at only 4.9%.”
“I don’t need money.”
“Transfer accounts to this account, or consolidate?”
“We don’t have any other accounts.”
“Protection for your account against identity-theft? 17 million Americans per year have their identity stolen, and credit-rating destroyed. All you’ve worked for for years is gone in a second.”
“I bet there’s a fee.”
“$11.35 per month.”
“We’ve had that account since 1969, which is probably before you were born. We monitor that account online, and apparently the bank does too. If anything strange occurs, it’s closed. Wham-bam; just like that!”