Zeth’s checking account Visa arrived in the mail last week.  I hung it from a clippy magnet on the refrigerator to see how long it took for him to ask about it.

Today, a week later, he asked if the mail went.  I told him, “It’s Labor Day, no mail.”

“The neighbor just got her mail.”

“They were away all weekend.” I explained.

“Oh.  Well, I haven’t gotten my checking account card yet.”

“Yeah ya did….it is on the fridge.”

“Thanks for telling me.” He said dryly.

He opened the letter indicating his pin number and the last four digits of the account it is associated with.  Next he opened the envelope containing the debit Visa card, reading the sticker on how to activate it.

“I have to use the card to make it work?”

“No, you can call on my phone because your account is set up with my phone number.” I told him.

“So I just call the number on this card?”

“Yeah, you know.  Answer the questions.”

“No, I don’t know or I wouldn’t be asking you.” He pointed out.

“It’s automated.  Just follow the directions.” I stressed.

Zeth stepped outside with my phone, a cigarette and his card.  He returned smiling, his nicotine levels refreshed and his card activated.  “My first piece of plastic!”

“Try not to melt it.” I advised.

~P.