Switzerland does not use checks. To pay for something in Switzerland, one usually uses cash or a credit card. To pay for something big (braces for your teenaged daughter, for example), one does a wire transfer. It took us a bit to adjust to this system of payment. It seemed strange and a little insecure to just punch in a few numbers on the computer or fill out a form at the post office. It was hard to believe that the money was going to actually end up where it needed to be when there was no physical evidence of its travel. Over the past two years, however, wire transfers and cash have become a way of life, and no checks = no problem. No problem until we returned to the the U.S. this week, where, interestingly enough, they do use checks. In the United States, they use checks for all kinds of things: paying enrollment fees at homeschool co-ops, remunerating people who inspect the chimney, and, of course, providing earnest money when one makes an offer on a house.
We had two main purposes in this trip -- first, we wanted to look at schools, and second, we wanted to find a house. We had about four days to accomplish both, so my formidable organizational powers were at full throttle. We searched online, drove through neighborhoods, talked to a Realtor, toured schools, examined roofs, boilers, bedrooms, and kitchens, found a house. We were clicking along like the well-oiled moving machine that we are, until I read through the 50 pages of contract required to make an offer on a house and got to the part where it said something like: "The buyer will provide earnest money in the form of a check for $5000 . . . ." A check. The machine's gears slowed a bit -- having been thoroughly Swissified over the past two years, we hadn't even thought to bring the check book on this trip. I wasn't a hundred percent sure that the check book wasn't packed with the pots and pans on a freighter on its own little voyage to America. No problem. I am flexible. We'd go to the bank for a cashier's check. That seemed like a super idea until I searched for the nearest Fifth Third Branch. It's in Pennsylvania. So, okay, we'll get cash. Nope -- the real estate company couldn't take cash. Weird, because cash is, after all, money, right? But okay, we'll do a wire transfer. Sorry, that's cash, too (even if it's invisible and electronic). So I decided we would get a money order. Having no idea how to purchase a money order (and only a vague notion of what a money order actually is), I did what all good researchers do and googled it. I learned that one can purchase money orders at the post office with a debit card.
The next morning, I dropped Eric off at the P&G office in Hunt Valley and headed to the Cockeysville Post Office. I had both of our passports, both drivers licenses, our Swiss debit card, and Eric's American debit card (mine had expired). I was prepared for anything. I figured I'd quick pick up the money order, go get a haircut, have a nice lunch, and then meet the Realtor at the house. I am efficient. I am Getting It Done. The post office was not crowded, and I told the nice lady behind the desk that I wanted a money order for $5000. No problem, except that post office money orders only come in amounts of up to $1000, so I'd have to buy five. Fine. Can I pay with my debit card? No problem, except that sometimes debit cards have a limit. Did I know if mine did? No idea, as 1) I hadn't used it in over a year, and 2) $100 is a large withdrawal for me. Also, I would have to fill out special identification information to go on record as having purchased more than $2000 worth of money orders in one day. Because I was going to use Eric's debit card, I needed to provide his information. Good thing I have his social security number, telephone, birthdate, and shoe size all filed away in the old noggin. I smugly told the lady that I had his passport, too, if she wanted it. Everything was fine until I swiped the card, which was promptly denied. The clerk said we were probably over the limit, so we cautiously tried several amounts, with larger ones being denied, until we succeeded in paying for $3000 worth of money orders. I then decided we'd try the Swiss card, which didn't work at all. The next step, the clerk explained, was to call the bank to have them increase the limit.
Waiting on hold with Fifth Third to ask them to increase my credit limit so I could buy more money orders, I started to feel a little conspicuous. I offered a brief prayer of thanks that the post office was (still) not crowded, and a more fervent prayer that someone would answer the phone. I typed in Eric's social security number, his debit card number, the PIN code from his card, then an actual person answered and asked for my social security number, which, naturally, I couldn't remember after all those other numbers. It was at this point that I started to feel, just a bit, like some pawn in an international money-laundering scheme. I did finally remember my own identifying information and, in quite a bit more time than in takes to write this, our debit limit was raised. Victory!
Defeat. I swiped the card repeatedly with no result. The clerk patiently voided out the rest of my order while I scuttled off to a corner to re-call Fifth Third. After again proving who I was by answering multiple questions which would have been easy for someone with an actual address and telephone number but were challenging for the temporarily homeless, I learned that I had increased the limit on my debit card, not Eric's. This was great news, except that my debit card, as the attentive reader will well remember, had expired. Not only could I not increase the limit on Eric's card (though we share an account!), but my repeated efforts to use it had alerted the Fraud Department, and now his card was entirely blocked. Could they talk to my husband? Well, no. I am calling you on his cell phone, since mine doesn't work in this country. He is in the bowels of P&G, inaccessible to a badge-less civilian. Nonetheless, unless I could reach him, the machine was at a standstill.
I told the nice postal clerk I'd be back (which I'm sure warmed her heart), and headed to P&G. I didn't use the GPS because I am a bloodhound with an unfailing sense of direction. After driving several times in a large and traffic-filled circle, I turned on the GPS and found P&G. I explained to the receptionist/guard dog that I needed my husband, and he had no phone, and could she call someone back there and have them find him? She reached someone on the third try. Eric only had to provide his blood type, mother's maiden name, amount of his last deposit, and the name of the queen's firstborn son in order to have the fraud alert removed from his card. He explained why his wife had made all those bizarre attempts on his card, and assured the bank that indeed, I was his wife and not the kingpin of crime. Then he called another number to have the credit limit raised. Then I returned to the post office, which turned out to be about 200 feet from P&G. So much for the bloodhound.
"Next," said the lady at the post office counter with a smile. Then, "Oh, it's you." But this time, the transaction proceeded hitch-free, and I walked out of the building with an envelope full of money orders. I can't explain why I still felt, just a bit, like I had pulled off something shady.
I should be able to draw a lesson from all this, but I can't quite figure out what it might be. Take your checkbook with you, stupid? That seems a little specific. People are usually pretty nice and patient, even if you are behaving in a bizarre and suspicious manner? I'm not sure that's a helpful moral. Maybe my lesson this this: Switzerland isn't the only country where it's difficult to get around if you don't know (or remember) the rules.
