By Mary Cristy
Recently I discovered, to my surprise and chagrin, that despite my stated preference for a traditional approach to accounting, my bank and two creditors arranged electronic transfers of funds from my checking account with neither my knowledge nor permission!
This would not raise an eyebrow if I belonged to the growing numbers of householders or corporations who accept electronic billing as the way to go. I have no quarrel with that. What waved the red flag, and found me stamping like a raging bull was the utter presumption of it! It seemed a light-fingered thief had dipped into my purse and stolen my wallet.
When I consulted the bank manager about it, she replied, “They’re all doing it now.” (The offenders were a phone company and a purveyor of gasoline).
“What’s so terrible?” a young friend scoffed. “They paid your bills, didn’t they?” What’s so terrible is that since I was widowed, almost five years ago, I’ve been implementing my own system of bookkeeping.
Since I was pampered by a husband who relieved me cheerfully of tasks for which I had little liking and less aptitude, this wasn’t an easy transition. With the aid of large-hearted, genial tax expert Paul Conrad, and sweet staffer Gloria, I muddled through ensuing years until, at last, I’d earned a “Good job, Mary” from each. For a math-impaired sufferer, this was nirvana.
Now, with one fell swoop of an electronic keyboard, I saw the dark spectre of obsolescence creeping like a germ-laden fog to encompass and devour my hard-won gains. To paraphrase Winston Churchill, who defended his sovereign right to end a sentence with a preposition, I protested, “This is audacity up with which I will not put!”
A complication had already arisen. It’s been my custom to postpone checking my monthly bank statement for a quiet time when I am relaxed. On the other hand, I write out checks for creditors immediately, which helps me sleep better at night. Thus, before I opened the monthly report I hadn’t a clue that the phone bill for which I’d just mailed out a check had already been deducted from my checking account through the bank! Without my knowledge or approval!
I’m glad my parish priest was nowhere in the vicinity of my reaction. The operator at the phone company remained calm, cool and collected while I ranted. “It won’t happen again,” she assured me when I said I’d fly to the arms of their nearest competitor. The bank arranged to order new checks for me, and agreed to add “Please do not process this check electronically!” beneath the line for my signature.
But I know Big Brother is out there and this is only the beginning for anachronisms like me who’ll hang tough when the corporate Gestapo makes its next move to cram us all into the suffocating Internet. I’ll continue to hold out with the rest of the diehards. And for those readers who may feel as I do, “ALLONS! MARCHONS!” Let’s strike a blow for freedom and for fishes who deplore nets of any shape and size as much as we do.
