Collections - 4. Chapter 4 -- Thank You For Reading Time

Thank You For Reading Time

My subscription to Time magazine was set to expire at the end of the year, but I had a discount coupon that expired sooner, so on May 2nd, I sent them the coupon, the mailing label, and a check for sixty bucks to pay for another three years. Simple.

Almost four weeks later, on May 27^th, I got a letter from their customer service department, returning my check, coupon, and mailing label and explaining that they’d been damaged, either in mailing or opening. And, indeed, the bottom left hand corner of two of the items had been ripped and had vanished. That didn’t really affect the torn coupon, but it did take out the first three digits of my bank routing number, making it ineffective. I shrugged. These things happen, and I had plenty of time to renew.

On the same day, the 27^th, I wrote a new check and enclosed it with a note explaining what it was for. I also enclosed the mainly undamaged coupon with the attached mailing label, and – just to be complete – the original check with VOID handwritten across it. The renewal process usually takes a month, so I wasn’t expecting an issue to turn up with a December 2020 expiration date immediately.

Yesterday, I got two copies of Time: one still expiring at the end of the year, and the other with a one-year subscription. This sort of thing has happened at least once before, I have no idea how many computer scanners are involved in the renewal process, and I could have gone online and tried to correct the problem using another machine or two. Instead, I decided a call might be faster. Not quite.

First call: Both magazine accounts are easily located and my identity verified. The account subscriptions are combined, the second account eliminated, but there’s a snag: my renewal check was processed for twenty bucks, not the sixty it was written for. Somewhere a scanner messed up.

“My bank says the check was processed for sixty bucks,” I explain.

“Our program says, ‘Twenty,’” I’m told.

“What do we need to unsnarl this?”

“The date the check was processed. So I can look it up in our system.”

It seems that merely having the bank name, routing number, account number, date the check was written, date the subscription was renewed, and my family’s secret recipe for chicken soup weren’t enough.

“I don’t have that information,” I say. “But I wrote and sent the check on May 27^th, you renewed my subscription on the 6^th, it usually takes three days for a letter to get from California to Florida, where it was sent, and – allowing for Memorial Day – I suspect that the check was probably processed on June 1^st or 2^nd.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t look it up in our system that way. Can you look at the back of the check and give me the processing date?”

“Well, not, exactly.” I then explain that I haven’t actually seen a processed check in maybe five years. My bank no longer even sends me electronic images.

“I’m afraid I need the date the check was processed.”

“I can’t get to that information right now.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“May I speak with your supervisor, please?”

Well, no, actually. A supervisor isn’t available. It’s about midnight in India, where this rep is working, and staff is thin. But I could be connected with another, equal, representative.

“Thanks. Let me chase down some more information first.”

Now I only use limited electronic banking – mainly automatic deposits – but I do access my account a lot by phone, so I can check when the check was processed. As it happens, I wasn’t far off: June 1^st. I call a new rep with this information.

Second call: I begin by explaining everything up to now. “When we last left Crusader Rabbit...” The new rep verifies that the subscriptions have been combined and the second account eliminated. I give her the additional information – my bank’s processing date – and she says that’s fine and good, but she needs the endorsement number from the back of my check. I again explain that I no longer get the processed checks or their facsimiles, but she says she needs that number. Meanwhile, she is able to extend my subscription to the expected three years but adds that’s now $68.80 at the Educator’s Rate, and she’ll bill me for that. I say “Fine, but how do I get credit for the sixty I already sent you?” She repeats that she needs that endorsement number.

I call my bank, not expecting to actually talk with anyone on a Sunday morning, but I get through and quickly explain the situation. “Oh, that’s easy,” I’m told, and after I provide the necessary tracing information, I’m given two numbers.

“I’m not sure which one is right,” the bank rep says, “but those are the only numbers on the back of your check.”

“Great,” I say, carefully writing down the multi-digit numbers. The first one begins with a number, then has four zeros, then eight numbers. The second begins with eleven zeros and has nine numbers after that. Yeah, I know: technically, zero’s also a number. Just trying to simplify.

Third call to Time: I quickly recap the situation, but the rep gets so confused by the term “endorsement number,” its importance, and location that she hangs up. Meanwhile, it’s become Monday, June 26^th in India.

Fourth call: Quick recap. Many confirmations. But it turns out the endorsement number isn’t what she needs: it’s the name of the processing bank. I tell her the name of my bank. “No,” she politely corrects. “I need the name of the bank that processed the check.”

“In Florida?” I ask.

She doesn’t know. She’s also in India.

Second call to my bank. Very friendly rep. She quickly locates the bank’s name – Wells Fargo – and arranges to e-mail me images of both the front and back of my check. “But that may not happen till Monday or Tuesday,” she apologizes, and she gives me a fourteen digit password to open the secured e-mail.

“Thanks,” I say, after triple-checking the complicated number.

Fifth call to Time: I re-reexplain. It’s easily received. “Let me get you to an account specialist,” I’m told.

“OK.”

By this point, I’ve been laughing a lot. Maybe laughter would help out in politics, but I wouldn’t bet on it. And I haven’t even mentioned that in order to get through to a live rep at Time – because that option isn’t listed on any of the assorted menus – you have to push the O key four separate times to bypass the recording. I don’t know where I learned that, but, fortunately, I did.

The account specialist picks up, a guy’s voice this time, seemingly American, not that either matters. I give him my assembled information – of which he mainly needs to hear “Wells Fargo Bank” – and he fixes the problem in under a minute.

“You now only owe us $8.80.”

“That’s great. Can I pay by credit card?”

“Sure thing.”

And I give him the numbers.

“One last thing,” he warns, “You’ll get a bill for your renewal. The system automatically generates it. But when it arrives, just toss it in the trash.”

“Will do. Thanks for the ‘Heads-Up.’”

“Anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope, I think that’s it.”

“Thank you for reading Time.”