THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, January 25, 1995 TAG: 9501250058
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: Medium: 75 lines
HIS NAME IS Aaron. Aaron is 8. He skateboards, wears a Hornets baseball cap and is as restless as a badger in a box. He drops by my condo now and then.
``So whatcha doing, Mr. Maddry?'' he asked.
I told him I was cleaning out my wallet. Amazing the amount of junk that works its way into a wallet. Ticket stubs, notes with numbers on them, loose stamps, expired coupons for specials at Pizza Hut or McDonald's.
``What are those?'' Aaron asked as I pulled some ATM receipts from the back of the wallet and tossed them into the trash basket.
I showed him the receipts. They were printed with the date of the transaction and the balance remaining after I'd withdrawn cash by punching my ID number into the computer.
``You've seen these before, Aaron. Doesn't your dad have a card he puts into an automatic teller machine?''
``Oh, sure,'' he replied, bouncing onto the seat of a swivel chair at the breakfast counter. Aaron said his dad hates ATMs. ``Sometimes the one at the bank isn't working. Then we have to drive all around to find another one. It ticks him off.''
I told him it was worse when you forget your ID number. I do that about once every two months. I'll be thinking about something on the radio or errands to be done once I leave the bank and wham! When the computer screen asks for the ID number, I've forgotten it. Don't have a clue.
``That's really a bummer, Aaron,'' I explained. `` Especially if there are cars waiting behind me.''
Aaron removed his Hornets ball cap and twirled it around on his finger.
``Why don't you write down your ID number and keep it in your wallet?'' he asked.
I told him I do that. ``But you have to be careful, Aaron. Suppose a crook steals my wallet or it gets lost? Then whoever has the wallet has the plastic card I put into the ATM and my ID number. They could clean out my account. So I just write the number on a blank scrap of paper without writing ID number above or below it.''
Aaron slipped his ball cap back onto his head, backward. ``Good idea,'' he said. ``Then it's OK, huh? You can just punch out your money, right?''
Not exactly, I explained. The problem is I have disguised the number so well that when I find the four digits, I don't know whether it is the combination for my bike lock, the pin number for a phone calling card or the number for my locker in the gym. So I spend a lot of time punching in those numbers when I run across them on the slips in my wallet.
``It's a real mess, Aaron,'' I said. ``Especially when the drivers in line behind me begin to honk horns and make obscene gestures.''
``Yeah. You're kinda goofy aren't you, Mr. Maddry?''
``Right, Aaron . . what does your dad do when he forgets his ATM number?''
Aaron said he had never seen his dad forget it. ``But he's a lot younger than you.''
``Yeah.'' I told him I was so old I could remember the first time I saw an ATM machine stuck in the side of a bank wall like a slot machine.
``Really?'' he said, eyes widening. ``What did they do before that?''
``Before ATMs?''
``Yeah?''
``You had to write a check every time you wanted money. And if all the stores were closed, you were out of luck. It helped to have a friend who owned a gas station or a late-hours grocery. The only good part was that there was no ID number to remember.''
Aaron puffed a wad of bubble gum with his tongue until the bubble popped, then slid off the chair and headed for the door.
``You remember your ATM number now, doncha?'' he asked.
``Ohmegawd!''
It took us about 10 minutes to sort through the scraps in the waste basket. I'm pretty sure we got the right one. But you never know. . . . by CNB