All the pretty horses

So, I got a new debit card a couple of weeks ago. Actually, it's my very first debit card.

Shut up.

I went to the bank one day to deposit a MASSIVE check (you know, because I tend to come into massive checks a lot and all), and the teller started telling me about a new kind of checking account. It sounded fabulous, I haven't changed my checking in probably . . . 10-ish years. And it comes with a new debit card.

I thought, what the heck! Sign me up!

But before we finished the process (which basically consisted of me saying "yes"), I remembered that I didn't actually have an old debit card. After college, I walked into the first local bank I saw and signed up for all of my banking needs. Luckily, it's been a good experience. They take good care of me, it's small, it's free. It's all I really need in a bank.

Plus, they give me free Cokes when I take the time to get out of the car and come inside for stuff, rather then going through the drive through. Um, totally worth a free Coke, y'all.

At the time that I opened the account, however, they didn't offer debit cards. Which was no big deal. That was back in the days when people wrote checks and carried cash. Who needed a debit card? Just give me one of those new-fangled ATM cards and I'll be on my way.

Anyway, when the teller offered me a new debit card to replace my old one, I mentioned that I didn't have an old debit card. I just had my original ATM card.

I pulled the card out of the wallet to show her the sad state of my card. It's literally the one and only ATM card I've ever had - the original card from the day of yore when I opened my account at this bank. The teller looked at me as though I had just shown her the world's first ATM card ever, from a prehistoric era of banking millions of years ago.

It's probably safe to say this woman didn't work for this bank 10-ish years ago, and it was highly likely that she had never seen a card like mine before. I'm not gonna lie. She stared at the card, and then at me.

This card had a bank logo on it from about three or four logos ago. It had been through the wash in my back pants pocket probably no less than 10 times over the years. It had melted and unmelted to other cards in various wallets that I've left in a hot car time after time. And the laminate was peeling from the edges so badly that in order to use the card, I had to work on mashing down the edges for a good five minutes before even thinking about approaching an ATM machine.

All this to say, I needed no convincing. Hand over the new debit card!

But, the teller (for some odd reason) seemed to think that I still needed to be convinced to relinquish my old, battered card to be replaced by a shiny new card. Her selling point was this:

"Well, you'll love these new cards! They are so pretty! They are so nicely done with a beautiful picture of some horses running through the countryside. . . . "

Huh? Since when are Debit cards art?

I could care less what the card looks like. I don't care if it's pretty, or if it's the ugliest card that has ever existed out of all of the cards in the world that have ever existed . . . ever. As long as it works, give it to me.

But this teller was so excited to tell me about the pretty new card that I just smiled and nodded and acted like I might be so impressed by the beauty of my new card that I might not even use it. I might just frame it and hang it on my wall so that people can come over and admire my new debit card . . . with all the pretty horses on it.

And then I'll go back to writing checks and carrying cash.

The card just might be too pretty.

C.T.