Credit card companies hate me. I am an unpreferred customer. I’m too brainy for their little game of hide and seek: “It’s your money, or so we lead you into thinking. First we ‘give’ it to you to be used at your wise discretion, using it on anything at all, so long as it’s something you don’t need. That’s the rule. Then we hide it beneath piles of confusing language, phony laws, false advertising, high interest rates, new annual gimmicks, pretend lower rates, late arriving monthly bills, and any other creative thing we can think of to bedazzle the heck out of you. Then you go seek for it. It’s not our fault you entered this game when we sent you that introductory form letter looking like it was a personal message from the president, in the regular mail and you opened it.”
“Where oh where did my money go? Where oh where has it gone?” Poor duped sheep, those followers of Consumerism. No better than Tim addicts who clog the highways of Canada to sit in a line of idling vehicles for over an hour to get a cup of Joe that’s at best the equivalent of the one across the street at the local gas station. You could have gotten that one in 59 minutes less of your valuable time, and substantially less side-effect-of-fossil-fuel-consumption contribution to the air we breathe.
I love my credit card and use it all the time. It’s ridiculously convenient, and with each new technological device, even more so. I get paid a trivial sum to use the thing. Soon we will be able to wave the index finger at some device, and the tiny microchip beneath the skin will pay automatically, securely. But there is one difference between me and sheep. I pay mine off each month. You’d think after 20 years, them banker guys woulda figured me out, and taken it away.