If you're at all like me, you hate paying NSF (Non-Sufficient Funds) fees. (Not that I've ever had any, just in case Mom and Dad are reading this. You know. They worry.)
We all make mistakes. Or rather, we all make a little too little money (again, um, not that I make too little money, but . . . oh nevermind).
If you want to avoid paying NSF fees, here are a few kilobytes of advice.
Real Advice Number 1 -- If you made an honest mistake, it can pay to call your bank. Explain what happened in exquisite detail. (It helps to write the exquisite detail down before calling. That way you don't forget.) Often banks and credit unions are staffed by actual people with actual difficulties just like you. They might be inclined to remove one or all of the NSF fees from your balance if you give them sufficient reason to do so (especially, it seems, if your bank or credit union is customer oriented). And if the bank made a mistake (which they sometimes do, believe it or not), they're even more inclined to do so. Sometimes it can be especially helpful if you bank at a local establishment, or a credit union. For some reason, they just tend to be friendlier folks.
A few additional tips if you call: Don't whine. Don't yell. Stay calm. It's just money. Be reasonable. Connect with the person on the other end of the line on a human level and even if they don't remove the fee, you're likely to live longer. (That's because you remove the stress from your life. Do I really have to explain these things to you?)
Sort of Unreal Advice Number 2 -- Close your checking account. Put your money under the mattress. Or give it to your cousin for safekeeping. Or better yet, scroll down the page and click the paypal button. Give as much as you can to me. Remember to give until it hurts.
Okay, seriously, some people just can't keep track of how much they have in the bank, and if you're one of those people, and you aren't holding a tremendous amount of money, and you happen to be paying as much or more in NSF fees (even twenty five dollars could be more) than you would on Money Orders when you need to drop some money into the U.S. Postal Service, then you could save a bundle by removing that money from your friendly banker's vault. Even 25 dollars a month amounts to 300 dollars a year. That pays for a lot of Western Union fees, you know?
Real Advice Number 3 -- Keep a 50 to 100 dollar buffer in your account that you don't record in your checkbook. This might become confusing when you balance your checkbook every month, but I'm guessing if you can't keep track of how much money is in there, then you probably aren't balancing your checkbook (really obvious sub-advice number 3.1415, balance your checkbook as soon as your statement arrives every single month). But if you do balance your checkbook, and you still get an NSF every once in awhile, and furthermore if you're the sort of person who can set your watch ahead by five minutes to make yourself early for a doctor's appointment (at which time you'll obviously have to wait 30 minutes in the waiting room), then you can probably manage to keep an extra balance as well.
Sort of Unreal Advice Number 4 -- To further trick yourself, instead of creating a baloney buffer, write a 50 or 100 dollar check to yourself or your spouse or your dog (probably the safest) and don't ever cash it. Hang it on the wall. Write "buffer" in the comment column. Write "VOID" across it to keep it from being stolen and used. Or write "do not cash this check, it'll bounce like a rubber blanket." That tends to make bank tellers suspicious.
But (oh yes, this is a big but) if you're the sort of person who writes an extra 125 dollars worth of checks knowing that you have the buffer, stay far away from this method. It'll only cause more damage than was already there.
Finally, the most surefire method of avoiding NSF fees goes like this:
1. Balance your checkbook (see number 3.1415 above).
2. Record every check and withdrawal from your checking account.
3. Don't write checks or make withdrawals beyond what you have in your checking account.
Does this seem obvious? Yeah, maybe so. But banks are making millions of dollars every year on NSF fees alone.
If you need further convincing, then read this marketing copy from an ODP company (odp is the industry name for protecting your nsf checks and having you pay just the bank rather than the bank and the bloke your wrote the check to). This one bank makes $70,000 a month on nsf checks alone. Do not contribute to this. Your value as a customer should not be in nsf fees. If this is truly the service the bank has to offer, then back up to number 2, and make extra room under your matress.
Did you find this interesting or useful?
May 20, 2004
May 18, 2004
Business
I'm on the bus. I'm minding my own business. I'm reading the Wall Street Journal. And I don't even particularly like reading the Wall Street Journal. But like I said. I'm on the bus. I'm minding my own business.
And a guy gets on the bus. This guy's being followed by another guy (who I'll call a "fella" so as not to confuse you), and the fella is shouting threats to the order of: "I'll shoot you. Oh yeah? I’ll shoot you."
The guy on the bus shouts something back. He calls the fella a name or two.
The fella repeats his threat several times. The bus driver also shouts at the fella. The bus driver also calls the fella a name or two.
I'm midway back on the bus, not really near the front. I don't think I'm actually in any danger here. I don't see an actual gun. Just shouts. And apparently the fella has doused the guy on the bus with some kind of liquor. He stinks of alcohol, and it is early in the morning. Too early for alcohol, even for the son of an alcoholic (that’s me). The guy on the bus is complaining that he can't go to school like this. He's going to have to get off the bus and go change and be late for school.
I'm considering telling the guy not to get off the bus and go home and change. I teach where this guy goes to school. I've seen him on the bus. It's a community college where he goes to school. A community college instructor should understand (I would). I consider telling the guy that any instructor who doesn't understand why he smells like liquor isn't worth the tuition this guy is paying. I consider telling him that if he wants, I'll follow him to his classroom and explain for him why he smells like liquor.
I consider a lot of things. But as of yet, I do nothing.
The driver and the guy are still yelling at the fella, who is walking away by now, headed somewhere else, to threaten someone else, presumably.
I consider telling the driver not to provoke the fella, not to call him names and tell him to come back over here so he can show him what he's made of. Just because we don't see a gun doesn't mean there isn't a gun. Guns are pretty easy to hide, so far as I know. I'm glad to be looking at the fella's backside as he moves away from us. I'm glad I don't see a gun.
But I'm still there midway back on the bus, saying nothing. I allow what has been proceeding to continue to proceed without a peep from me. The guy who cannot go to school smelling like liquor decides to get off the bus and go home to change. The bus driver tries to convince him not to get off the bus. I think this is good advice, but the guy won't listen to it. He's getting off. He's going to change and get to school late, but at least he won't stink of liquor. Does he live near the fella who was threatening him? I don't know, and maybe I don't want to know much more about these two.
The driver closes the doors. The guy walks away from the bus in the same direction as the fella just did a few moments before. The guy keeps checking himself, as if to see if he's still of one piece. I look at my Wall Street Journal. I haven't turned a page or really moved it much since I got on the bus. But now I put it back in front of my face. Maybe I've learned something about myself. Maybe I've learned something about living in the world. Not from the Wall Street Journal. Not really from the guy on the bus or the fella with (or without) the gun. I didn't ever see a gun. I probably wasn’t in much danger. So now I'm still on the bus. The bus moves forward as if nothing has happened. And me? I'm minding my own damn business.
And a guy gets on the bus. This guy's being followed by another guy (who I'll call a "fella" so as not to confuse you), and the fella is shouting threats to the order of: "I'll shoot you. Oh yeah? I’ll shoot you."
The guy on the bus shouts something back. He calls the fella a name or two.
The fella repeats his threat several times. The bus driver also shouts at the fella. The bus driver also calls the fella a name or two.
I'm midway back on the bus, not really near the front. I don't think I'm actually in any danger here. I don't see an actual gun. Just shouts. And apparently the fella has doused the guy on the bus with some kind of liquor. He stinks of alcohol, and it is early in the morning. Too early for alcohol, even for the son of an alcoholic (that’s me). The guy on the bus is complaining that he can't go to school like this. He's going to have to get off the bus and go change and be late for school.
I'm considering telling the guy not to get off the bus and go home and change. I teach where this guy goes to school. I've seen him on the bus. It's a community college where he goes to school. A community college instructor should understand (I would). I consider telling the guy that any instructor who doesn't understand why he smells like liquor isn't worth the tuition this guy is paying. I consider telling him that if he wants, I'll follow him to his classroom and explain for him why he smells like liquor.
I consider a lot of things. But as of yet, I do nothing.
The driver and the guy are still yelling at the fella, who is walking away by now, headed somewhere else, to threaten someone else, presumably.
I consider telling the driver not to provoke the fella, not to call him names and tell him to come back over here so he can show him what he's made of. Just because we don't see a gun doesn't mean there isn't a gun. Guns are pretty easy to hide, so far as I know. I'm glad to be looking at the fella's backside as he moves away from us. I'm glad I don't see a gun.
But I'm still there midway back on the bus, saying nothing. I allow what has been proceeding to continue to proceed without a peep from me. The guy who cannot go to school smelling like liquor decides to get off the bus and go home to change. The bus driver tries to convince him not to get off the bus. I think this is good advice, but the guy won't listen to it. He's getting off. He's going to change and get to school late, but at least he won't stink of liquor. Does he live near the fella who was threatening him? I don't know, and maybe I don't want to know much more about these two.
The driver closes the doors. The guy walks away from the bus in the same direction as the fella just did a few moments before. The guy keeps checking himself, as if to see if he's still of one piece. I look at my Wall Street Journal. I haven't turned a page or really moved it much since I got on the bus. But now I put it back in front of my face. Maybe I've learned something about myself. Maybe I've learned something about living in the world. Not from the Wall Street Journal. Not really from the guy on the bus or the fella with (or without) the gun. I didn't ever see a gun. I probably wasn’t in much danger. So now I'm still on the bus. The bus moves forward as if nothing has happened. And me? I'm minding my own damn business.
May 06, 2004
Essay: Fetch the Baby
At one time, this essay could be found on my taxis page. But then I realized that taxis was going to be where I wanted to host links and other doo-dads. So I'm moving all flull-blown essays and whatnot to the praxis page (where you are right now), and taxis should change somewhat in the nearish future.
Fetch the Baby
I am a father. Which means I cannot give a newborn the most nourishing--both physically and mentally--food. I cannot nurse my child from my breasts. The closest I can come is to go the freezer, remove a small package of expressed breast milk, heat it gently, put it into a bottle, and sit with him, rock him, look into his eyes as he drinks it down.
I have not done this in what seems a very, very long time.
But when my son was young enough, before he was eating a lot of solid foods, I took a kind of guilty pleasure in offering him this bottle of breast milk. It was very soothing to him, and he would tug on his ear and watch me as he drank it, blinking, smiling. It gave me but a slight glimmer of what it must be like to nurse a child, and was so rewarding that I couldn't imagine, were I a mother, not nursing my child. I couldn't imagine not wanting the further attachment of skin to skin, of directly nourishing him, feeling him grow in my arms.
When I watch my wife nurse my son I know that there is a kind of communication between them that I will never know. Rather than feel jealous of this relationship, I feel that it is my responsibility to encourage it, to make a space for it, to support them in any way that I can. The ways that I can help are small, but they add up, and they work.
Here are a few tips for "nursing dads," especially with mom and newborn, and you can take them or leave them, but they have worked tremendously well for me and my family:
So this is it: support support support. Is that clear enough? I don't want to get rough anybody. I can be a mean son of a mother when I want to be.
Most importantly, enjoy this time and keep you and mom healthy. If you don't pay attention, you'll miss entire acres of time, and you don't get any of that stuff back. Remember, you are a part of the family, and that doesn't mean you just get to be nervous and defensive and moody--you do not get to withdraw and pretend your work is harder and more time consuming than everybody else's, because it absolutely isn't. When you feel yourself sliding into that trap, practice saying it: "No problem." Say it in the car on the way home from work. Say it to the bathroom mirror. Say it to your boss and to the parking attendant who just gave you a ticket. Say it. "No problem." Pretty soon, I promise you, it will become true.
I am a father. Which means I cannot give a newborn the most nourishing--both physically and mentally--food. I cannot nurse my child from my breasts. The closest I can come is to go the freezer, remove a small package of expressed breast milk, heat it gently, put it into a bottle, and sit with him, rock him, look into his eyes as he drinks it down.
I have not done this in what seems a very, very long time.
But when my son was young enough, before he was eating a lot of solid foods, I took a kind of guilty pleasure in offering him this bottle of breast milk. It was very soothing to him, and he would tug on his ear and watch me as he drank it, blinking, smiling. It gave me but a slight glimmer of what it must be like to nurse a child, and was so rewarding that I couldn't imagine, were I a mother, not nursing my child. I couldn't imagine not wanting the further attachment of skin to skin, of directly nourishing him, feeling him grow in my arms.
When I watch my wife nurse my son I know that there is a kind of communication between them that I will never know. Rather than feel jealous of this relationship, I feel that it is my responsibility to encourage it, to make a space for it, to support them in any way that I can. The ways that I can help are small, but they add up, and they work.
Here are a few tips for "nursing dads," especially with mom and newborn, and you can take them or leave them, but they have worked tremendously well for me and my family:
1. Bring Mom snacks and glasses of water. Chances are good she's not drinking enough water, and snacks will encourage the drinking as well as keep her cheered, and the drinking, of course, will keep her hydrated.
2. Do not complain when asked to retrieve things like books or magazines (or anything else) while mom and baby are nursing. In fact, encourage the fetching of items. When she asks, practice the following: "No problem." Go ahead. Say it right now. It doesn't matter who hears you. It's almost always appropriate. Now go get her favorite magazine, take it to her while she's nursing. Set it near the snacks. Maybe she'll read, maybe she won't. It hardly matters. Do it anyway.
3. When the baby is crying and you're trying to settle him down, don't "suggest" that he needs to nurse. Mom knows. Do, though, give up the child to mom when she asks for him. Do not say anything approaching "You're nursing him again? In other words, don't be a fool. Put a sock in it.
4. If mom is complaining about nursing, let her. She needs the release. She needs to express her frustration. Do not be so utterly crazy as to say something like, "maybe you should wean her." Instead say something like, "Would you like a glass of water? You must be exhausted. How about some tea?" Now you're getting it.
5. Do not be afraid to call La Leche League yourself (though don't dial the number then hand the phone to your unsuspecting wife. Have you learned nothing here? This call is for your education and enlightenment only. They can be very helpful, and provide you with lots of information about nursing moms. Call La Leche League International at 1-800-LALECHE or (847)519-7730, or go to www.lalecheleague.org on the web. (And if mom is having trouble, see if you can get her to call La Leche League herself. Despite anything you may have heard, it's not just a bunch of moms sitting around nursing their six-year-olds. They are there to support a mom's nursing efforts, no matter how much or how long they want to nurse, and most of them don't bite. At least not the first time you call.)
6. You know your nursing mom better than I do. Don't be afraid to trust your instincts. But before you trust your instincts, ask yourself if they are actually your instincts or something your mother is sitting on your shoulder and telling you. This happens even when your mother is thousands of miles away. Don't let it happen to you. Tell your imaginary mother to put a sock in it. And if you have to, tell your real mother to put a sock in it too.
So this is it: support support support. Is that clear enough? I don't want to get rough anybody. I can be a mean son of a mother when I want to be.
Most importantly, enjoy this time and keep you and mom healthy. If you don't pay attention, you'll miss entire acres of time, and you don't get any of that stuff back. Remember, you are a part of the family, and that doesn't mean you just get to be nervous and defensive and moody--you do not get to withdraw and pretend your work is harder and more time consuming than everybody else's, because it absolutely isn't. When you feel yourself sliding into that trap, practice saying it: "No problem." Say it in the car on the way home from work. Say it to the bathroom mirror. Say it to your boss and to the parking attendant who just gave you a ticket. Say it. "No problem." Pretty soon, I promise you, it will become true.
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