Always Read the Fine Print
I called Citibank to ask why my Thank You Points didn't post to my account for October. Mrs. Wife and I accumulate points by using our credit card and checking account. They’re great! You get free stuff! In September we used our points for a round-trip ticket to London.
Citi Rep: Mr. Banishment, you have reached your 75,000 point per year maximum.
Me: What maximum?
Citi Rep: It’s in the agreement you signed. You can only accumulate 75,000 points per year.
Me: So, for my fourth quarter purchases, including Christmas shopping, I’ll earn ZERO points?
Citi Rep: That's correct. It was in the agreement.
Ah, well. I suppose it's my fault. But Citibank took advantage of my unwillingness to read the fine print of a contract. Shame on them.
* * *
I had a last-minute replacement masseuse last week. Getting a massage is such an intense, personal experience. When you’ve been married for as long as I have, taking all of your clothes off in a dark room and having a strange, young woman walk in and rub you down from head to toe is a bit unsettling. Not unpleasant. Just a little disconcerting. Familiarity breeds comfort. Using the same masseuse all the time alleviates the anxiety. Plus, she gets to know where the knots are. Having a replacement thrown into the mix at the last minute is a bit jarring.
She didn't seem to care. I suppose I was just another client to her. You walk around thinking you're one in a million but the truth is you're just a dime a dozen.
* * *
Well, that was an utterly meaningless post. Sorry, folks. Sometimes you smack it over the center field fence and other times you tap a dribbler to the pitcher's mound.
Citi Rep: Mr. Banishment, you have reached your 75,000 point per year maximum.
Me: What maximum?
Citi Rep: It’s in the agreement you signed. You can only accumulate 75,000 points per year.
Me: So, for my fourth quarter purchases, including Christmas shopping, I’ll earn ZERO points?
Citi Rep: That's correct. It was in the agreement.
Ah, well. I suppose it's my fault. But Citibank took advantage of my unwillingness to read the fine print of a contract. Shame on them.
* * *
I had a last-minute replacement masseuse last week. Getting a massage is such an intense, personal experience. When you’ve been married for as long as I have, taking all of your clothes off in a dark room and having a strange, young woman walk in and rub you down from head to toe is a bit unsettling. Not unpleasant. Just a little disconcerting. Familiarity breeds comfort. Using the same masseuse all the time alleviates the anxiety. Plus, she gets to know where the knots are. Having a replacement thrown into the mix at the last minute is a bit jarring.
She didn't seem to care. I suppose I was just another client to her. You walk around thinking you're one in a million but the truth is you're just a dime a dozen.
* * *
Well, that was an utterly meaningless post. Sorry, folks. Sometimes you smack it over the center field fence and other times you tap a dribbler to the pitcher's mound.
posted by The Unbearable Banishment at
12:49 PM
4 Comments:
we all tap a dribbler occasionally... nice turn of a phrase. reminds me of a date i went on once...
...at least you didn't get the male-former-wrestler-with-a-grudge as your stand in masseuse (masseur?). i think you'd have a different definition of 'uncomfortable'.
Re: the citibank arses, clearly the solution is to use another credit card completely over the most lucrative time of the year. Their loss.
daisy: You have to be careful. Too many dribblers and you're sent to the minor leagues.
gnu: I always request a girl masseuse. It's the only time I can have another woman touch me and not have it result in divorce.
jo: I thought about that but we only have one credit card and I'd like to keep it that way. What to do?
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