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January 09, 2004

IT'S CALLED A DECIMAL POINT YOU SILLY SLAG!

OR, Francois Viete: a Frenchman worth knowing about

Or

The Gay Librarian and the Case of the Missing Decimal Point

Or

Why I was late to work this morning

Prologue: Last night I drove home, the gas needle was low and I stopped to get gas. I put my debit card into the pump, removed it quickly as a good citizen does, and was given the message “Unable to accept”. I’ve had this happen before when I knew there was plenty of money in the account (usually it’s an inability for computers to communicate or whatever as explained in the book “Gas Pumps Are From Venus, Bank Computers are Really Big Databases that Aren’t From Venus”) so I used the $5.00 in cash that I had on me and thought no more of it.

Little did I know that had Marley’s Ghost and Hamlet’s Father been dancing a tango on my Saturn it could not have been more an ominous portend of a journey that would end in the darkest fissures of the valley of Gehenna (or at least in the manager’s office of MidSouth Federal Credit Union).

The Story Proper:

Since I used my only cash to buy gas last night I needed some more, so, thunk I, I’ll use my ATM card to get some from the ATM, for that is why they are there, the dispensation of cash being their entelechy and raison d’etre all rolled into one fiscal disco ball. At 8:20 a.m., my hair attended and my terrier pre-peed, I alighted and to the ATM did make pilgrimage, secure, as I was young in those days and filled with optimism, that the ATM and the gods in some order loved me. How I long to return to those days, the revelations of the bluebirds sung into my ear and the hope of youth still abundant as the happy workers singing low pitched Norwegian folk songs in the fields and the

Anyway, I’m foreshadowing. I get to the ATM, request $20.00, and receive the message “Funds not available”. The sheol? I thought. I performed the necessary sacrifices for a balance check and received a digital readout of

-$12.06

That’s “minus” 12.06, as in “not $12.06” but “less than $12.06” and in fact “less than 0” by approximately $12.06 (a concept not even considered possible until Brahmagupta proposed it in the 6th century BCE, until when I’d still have had an ATM balance).

I remained perfectly calm other than a mild major coronary incident, temporary loss of sight and bladder control, and being privy to visions and voices of my dead relatives debating whether I should step into the light. (My father wanted me to come but only because he wanted a box of King Edward “see-gars- you can’t get the damned things up here… down here… over here… wherever the hell we are” while my grandmother as usual confused me with my brother.)

I’m bad about not balancing my account often enough and usually not being exactly with the bank on my balance, but I always have at least a rough estimate of how much I have and I haven’t bounced a check since I was an underemployed wage-slave the last time we were at war with Iraq. (Aldous Huxley drove his wife and accountants nuts by never keeping records of checks with the argument “The bank is always quite nice about letting me know when I don’t have enough money- they send me letters”; he is one-third of the triumvirate that died on November 22, 1963, the other two being JFK and C.S. Lewis; there’s a play by Peter Kreeft about them in the anteroom to the afterlife entitled “Between Heaven and Hell”- great premise but unfortunately it sucks.)

I waited until the bank opened and asked for a printout of my transactions. “We charge two dollars for those” said the officious teller. “I don’t have any cash and I don’t think you want me to write you a check” say I. She lets me look at the screen. One entry terrifies me.

FLASHBACK- December 30, 2003

I had the last in a series of dental appointments with a Macon office that I’ll identify only by the codename of Virgil Earp. (His real name is in fact that of another famous Western figure who was born in Georgia to whom he himself is not related though strangely enough his wife is.)

This was a simple follow-up to install a crown. As I was leaving I asked if I had a total. The receptionist told me

”Your insurance handles most of today. Your only total is nine ninety-two.”

I gave her my debit card. She makes a voucher on which she writes

992

I ask

“Do you mean nine dollars and ninety-two cents or nine hundred and ninety two dollars?”

“No, just nine-dollars and ninety-two cents. Installing the crown is simple and insurance pays most and you’re paid up to date.”

So I made a decimal between the nines that Helen Keller could read and signed the slip. (Did you know that Helen Keller was so vain she had her real eyes removed and replaced with handpainted glass ones? True. She knew that her real eyes were visibly blind to others and she wanted to look "normal". She was also a plagiarist, though not intentionally- she had a very hard time separating her own thoughts from "intake", and her senility has many fascinating stories that aren't relative here but I'll mention in passing. One of the non-human tragedies of 9-11 is that most of her papers were destroyed, incidentally.)

Guess what she (the receptionist, not Helen Keller- the latter might have been understandable) entered it as?

You guessed it: nine hundred and ninety-two dollars.

RETURN TO PRESENT

I explained to the lady at the bank what had happened. She didn’t really understand the reference to Aldous Huxley and of course I had to spell Brahmagupta and provide a cite for the bit about Helen's eyeballs, but she was cooperative. She asked me to call the dental clinic (using my calling card as they were too cheap to pay the LD) and I did. It’s closed today so I received their answering service.

“Is this an emergency?”

Oooh yeah.

A few minutes later Dr. Earp (who looks amazingly like Donald Sutherland and sounds like a stoned-out-of-his-make-believin'-mind Mr. Rogers), calls. I explain what’s happening.

“Oh dear… well that’s bad. Unfortunately that’s something that ‘Carol’” (not her real name) “will have to handle… I’ll have her call you.”

A few minutes later “Carol” called. I explained the situation. Her response, in a high pitched voice that would make a Shih-Tzu bleed from the ears:

“Hee hee hee… oops! Well, we’ll just reverse that. Unfortunately I’m not at the office, but I can do it later today probably.”

Oh no rush bouboulina, it’s not like I’m TWELVE DOLLARS AND SIX CENTS (OR TWELVE HUNDRED AND SIX DOLLARS DEPENDING ON WHERE YOU INSERT OR DON’T THE *@*$(&ING DECIMAL POINT!) BELOW BROKE!!! YOU JUST GO OUT AND BUY YERSEF SUMPIN PERTY WHILE I STAY HERE ON THE CURB AND SAY "Hey dude... you like wanna party?" to old fat businessmen in their towncars in order to buy food for me and my dog!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, the bank was very understanding and, after getting the approval of the manager, board of directors, 2/3 of the Arkansas Congress of Day Laborers and a Candomble shaman from Quebec (how they found a Candomble shaman in Quebec is another story that involves string theory and the Argentine beef industry) they gave a temporary credit of $992 to my account (we're talking two holes in the ozone from the trees killed for the paperwork) contingent upon Nurse Goodbody’s reversal in the days that are to come, so at least I can eat and run and jump and play like the other children this weekend.

Anyway, that’s why I was late. How was your morning?