5th/3rd revisited

OK, This bank thing was just really bugging me.
I know it isn't a lot of money.

$39.00 to be exact.

I know people who spend more than that on beer each weekend.

But I'm not one of them.

$39.00 in Diann's capable hands, will buy enough groceries for us for two weeks.
It will buy an entire summer wardrobe for Lia.
It will buy us a night out together.
It will fill up the gas tank on my Ranger.

$39.00 is nothing to sneeze at.

So, I sat down and wrote a big long letter to the bank, and explained in great detail what had happened, and why I should get my money back. I sent it off, waited a couple of days, then called the bank. I very politely, and calmly walked the person who I spoke with through the entire incident, explaining that the bank had made a mistake, then, they had charged me a fee to pay for their mistake.
I went thorough my last few months statements, line by line with her over the phone, and she agreed with me.

The bank had made an error.

I should get my money back.

She told me that she had to check and make sure, but it sure looked to her like they owed me some money. She promised to call me back before the end of the business day and let me know if there was a problem.

I got a voice mail from her about an hour later, saying that she had confirmed that it was a bank error, and that they would be crediting my account in the amount of $39.00. This was Thursday, June 18. She told me I should see my money in my account by the end of the business day Friday, or Monday at the very latest.

Well, today was Wednesday, and I still haven't got my $39.00.

I don't know.

Do they think that if they play games long enough I will just forget about it?

Back where I came from, when you took something that did not belong to you, without permission of the owner, and kept it as your own, that was called stealing.

Some people even had fancy names for it when businesses did it, like theft, and fraud, and larceny.

Tomorrow, I guess I will have to call the bank again, and remind them that they still owe me some money.

Or maybe I should go in person. That way I can play them the voice mail message I have from last week, telling me that I should expect my money by Friday.

I feel like the paper boy in Better Off Dead.

"I. Want. My. Thirty. Nine. Dollars!!!"

Fifth Third Bank- Move over Dawes Tomes Mousley Grubbs Fidelity Fiduciary Bank

In Mary Poppins, Micheal Banks goes to the bank with his father George, who actually works at the bank. George attempts to show him where his money can be put to good use, and how it can grow over time with proper investment.

Micheal is having none of that. He yells, "Give my money back"

I visited the bank today, and I too wanted to yell: "Give my money back."

Perhaps I should explain.

Fifth Third Bank (those money grubbing leeches,) has a policy that allows two free non-fifth third bank ATM withdrawals per month. after that there is a charge for each one.

I made one in April, and was charged $2.00. I made two in May and was charged $2.00 each, for a total of $4.00. What happened to the free ones?? Who knows?

OK, I get it, their policy says one thing, they do another, not the first nor the last business to do that, especially in the banking industry. But here is the grind.

The fees they charged in May, $4.00 were applied when I had $3.97 in my account, so, of course, that cause my account to go into overdraft. I was then charged a $33.00 overdraft fee.

I went to the bank today and asked them to reverse that fee, as it was caused by an action that they, the bank took, rather than an action that I myself took.

The branch manager responded that she could not reverse the fee, because they had reversed fees for me in the past.

Now, I admit that I am not the money manager that my wife is, but I have never asked the bank to reverse fees unless I felt that the fees were a result of their error.

Apparently they have a "we only admit one error" policy.

So I have a new policy: "Sorry Fifth third, I can't pay a fee for an overdraft, because I have paid in the past."

I wonder if it would work in other situations as well?

"Yes, officer, I know I was speeding, but hey, I've paid fines in the past, so I don't have to pay one now."

I mean, what the heck, once you pay the fee, it's like a get out of jail free card. If you paid for a mistake in the past, you don't have to pay next time you make one.

I understand that with the change in the way the banking industry works, banks no longer can rely on the money that they are borrowing from me to stay afloat.
But since when do they get free rein to do what they want when they want with my money, with no accountability?

It isn't enough any more to use my money for their own purposes, paying me no interest on it, and only returning it when I ask for it.
They now have to rely on fees and charges, overt or covert, hidden or blatantly thrown in my face, to pay their bills. They somehow have decided that I am interested in paying out chunks of money on their whims, just for the privilege of doing business with them.

They have complete control over my money, and I get charged an average of $18.50 per transaction and there is nothing I can do about it.

If the bank ever runs out of money, Uncle Sam, (That's Mohama Rockabama) steps in with a fistful of dollars and an empty promise of accountability that cannot be enforced, and recharges their empty pockets.

Well, enough is enough.

I'm with Micheal Banks.

Give my money back!!

Tha Saga Part 3

The next 24 hours were a bit hazy for me. The morphine kicked in, and while it doesn't really make the pain go away, it makes your brain all fuzzy and woozy, so you don't really care as much. I remember them loading me back into an ambulance, because I remember the smell of exhaust in the loading area. There were several ambulances all idling there and the smell was overpowering, and I started to gag.

The next thing I remember was a whole group of people lifting me from the stretcher directly to an xray table, where they took a lot more xrays.

Then, I faded off and in the surreal world of morphine, I dreamed I had died. I heard a voice call my name, and I saw a face, surrounded by light talking to me. I asked if he was an angel, and he replied that he was a doctor.

He told me that the good news was that he was going to save my leg, and that I would probably walk again. The bad news was that it was going to take a long, long time. I had a very serious injury. He went on to describe in great detail, the extent of my injury and the steps necessary to fix it. I listened for a while, then asked him if he would mind writing it all down, because I wanted my wife to hear all this, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't remember. He asked me where my wife was, and I told him she was at home, but that she would be here in the morning. He told me he would come back and explain everything to her too.

I remember some sketchy details over the next 24 hours. They moved me to a room, to await surgery in the morning.

Somewhere between then and morning, I started getting blisters all along my leg. The nurse explained that they were fracture blisters. When you suffer trauma, and have swelling, that swelling is caused by fluid building up in that part of your body. I was actually building up so much fluid in this leg, that it was bursting through the skin in golf ball sized blisters, that would fill up and burst. The staff was busy all night wiping my leg down repeatedly with cold cloths and trying to ease the discomfort.
I was scheduled for surgery on my leg in the morning, but that was not going to happen the way they had planned.
Before they got me to the operating room, I developed what is known as compartment syndrome. Essentially this is severe, extreme swelling, as a result of trauma. My leg was so swollen that not only could they not do the surgery as planned, but they actually had to make a long cut down the side of my leg, to keep it from splitting open. (Think Ball Park Franks).

The surgeon explained to me that they could not do the surgery until the swelling had gone down, so instead the took several long metal rods and used them to splint my leg, by driving long metal pins through the rods and into the bone. I still have big divots where each of those pins was placed, and those sites still cause me a great deal of pain, but I digress.

So, to make a long story a little less long, it was quite some time before they could do the surgery to install the plates and screws and rods, and widgets, and hinges, and cotter pins and bolts and whatever else they stuck in my leg to hold it all together again.

Once they had completed that surgery, and made sure I was stable, they transferred me to a hospital closer to home.

On a side note, although it sounds like it would be fun, I do not recommend the back of an ambulance, while strapped to a gurney, with your leg in a metal brace, elevated above your waist, in excruciating pain, without the benefit of morphine, on icy roads, during a winter storm, as the ideal means of transportation for those wishing to travel from Grand Rapids Michigan to the Downriver area.

I do, however strongly recommend Butterworth Hospital, in Grand Rapids, should anyone be looking for a good hospital to stay a while.

I didn't realize how good I had it there, until I got to Henry Ford Hospital in Wyandotte.

Now, don't get me wrong. Henry Ford is a fine hospital. But while Butterworth is new, sleek and state of the art, Henry Ford is older, runs on a lower budget, and generally caters to a different clientele.

In any event, I was tired of hospital life and wanted to go home. Once the insurance company learned that Diann worked from home, so would be there to take care of me, so they would not have to hire a home aid, they were especially interested in sending me home as well, so I made it home before Christmas.

Now, taking care of someone who can't stand without help, cannot walk at all, requires a wheelchair to go anywhere, and is in a constant state of pain and drug induced stupor is a lot more work that one may assume.

I know it sounds easy, lifting me around, heaving my wheelchair in and out of our truck, carrying, bending, lifting, pulling, and pushing my wheelchair on icy sidewalks. But it actually wasn't.
Shortly after I was discharged, Diann was lifting my heavy duty wheelchair into the truck, and tore an abdominal muscle.
She had some serious back issues anyway, and this exacerbated those. She tore a ligament in her knee, we still aren't exactly sure how.
She did all this while working 40 hours a week, running our home, keeping everything clean and orderly for the endless chain of case workers, home care workers, therapists, and well wishers who popped in and out on a regular basis.
She would get up in time to help me get washed up and ready for the first workers who usually showed up around 9 am. Then she alternated between doing her work, and being a full time home care worker, until about 9:00 pm. Then she would work another 3-4 hours and go to bed well after midnight, so she could do it all again the next day.

Sometime mid February, we finally got a home care worker approved to come in and help with some of the basics. By that time Diann had already hurt herself several different ways.


So now, we have two separate people injured as a result of this accident.

Now how much would you pay??

But wait! There's more!

Watch this space for continuing chapters of The Saga Of Troy.....

The story.... The saga.... Continues... Part 2

Ok, I didn't mean to get off on an exploration of truck driving as a career in my last post, but I do think that for those who have not been exposed to the industry, it is important to know and realize that it doesn't work like a regular job.

You don't go to work at the same time each day, and go home at the same time each day. You go to work when they tell you to, each day varies, and you go home when the work is done. There's no such thing as overtime, and if you don't get the work all done on Monday, you finish it on Tuesday, but you still only get paid for one day of work.

So, having said that, let me return to my story...

As I indicated in my last post, September of 2005, I was on top of the world. Life was good. I was making good money, had a new truck, was out of debt, was reasonably healthy, and had high hopes for the next few years.

Maybe it was God reminding me to be humble. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it just was.

On Oct 17, after a long illness, my father passed away. No surprise, we had been expecting it, but that didn't make it any easier. Fortunately, we had all our credit cards paid off, so we could make a trip to Utah for the funeral. I was allowed 2 days of bereavement leave and had to take a couple extra days off, unpaid of course, to allow for the trip both ways and a day to spend with my family when I was there. But that's what you do. I had a decent income, and we would pay off the credit cards very quickly.

OK, back to work. November 15, I had to go to Columbus OH, and pick up the load that I was to deliver on Nov 16 in Grand Rapids MI.

I was told that my load would not be ready until at least 5:00 pm, so I arrived at our facility right around 5:00. My load was not ready, in fact, I did not get in until almost 8:00. I took one look at my paperwork, and immediately saw a problem.

This was something that we had discussed repeatedly in Safety Meetings, but the management at Exel claimed that there was nothing they could do about it.

I had four stops, all in the Grand Rapids Michigan area. One at the far western edge of the city, one at the far eastern edge and two high on the north end.

Logic would have me either start on the west side and move around to the north and then the east, then come home, of, start on the east, move around to the north and then the west and then come home.

But that was not how they were loaded. I was to start with one of the north locations. In order to get there I had to drive right past two of my other stops. Then I was to go to the west location. Then back to the east location, and finally end up back at the second north location.

This would add about 50 miles of back and forth, city driving to my day, increasing my work day by about two hours.

Stay with me here, because I am going to throw a whole bunch of numbers out, but I don't know any other way to explain my situation.

It was 8:00 pm when I was finally able to leave Columbus with my load, and it is a five hour drive back home. So I arrived at home at about 1:00 AM. Federal law requires that I take a 10 hour break at that point, for safety reasons. If I did that I could leave home at 11:00 am and drive to Grand Rapids, arriving at around 2:30 pm. This would give me 4 hours until the tire stores closed for the day.

I had four stops to unload, each one would take approximately 1-1.5 hours, and then there was an additional 2 hours of drive time, back and forth between the stops. so I had 6-8 hours of work to do. (this does not include my drive time of 3.5 hours there and 3.5 hours home, making it a typical 13-15 hour day) I had to have it done by 6:30 . This meant I had to arrive in Grand Rapids at 12:30 at the latest, and 10:30 would be even better. Allowing 3.5 hours for drive time, I had to leave home no later than 9:00 am, and preferably as early as 7:00 am. This was 2-4 hours earlier than what the law allows, but, as I have discussed, truck driving is a constant balancing act between safety, legality, and a days pay. If I did not complete the load on Wednesday, I would have to finish it on Thursday, losing a day's pay.

So, I compromised, and left home around 8:00 am. That gave me 6 hours of sleep, as much as most truck drivers ever get in one night anyway. I knew that I would be cutting it close at the end of the day, but as long as I hustled, I would be able to get all the work done, and get home somewhere around 10:00 pm.

My plan was going well, until my first stop. They weren't quite ready to receive the tires, they had someone in the way, I had to wait while they moved, then they had to get the unload crew together, all the things that take a few minutes here and a few minutes there, and so, I left that stop, an hour behind schedule. Then I fought the city traffic all the way across town to the second stop, arriving at lunch time. Their unload crew was at lunch, so I had to wait until they got back. I left that stop 1 hour and 45 minutes behind schedule. Stop number three was going well. Just as I was finishing, at around 5:30 pm, I got a call from my dispatcher, with my assignment for the next day, asking me if I was going to be able to do it. I explained that I had 1 hour before my final stop closed for the day, but it was only 30 minutes away, so if he would call them and tell them I was on the way, I would get there as fast as I could.

I walked back to the back of the trailer, and turned around to step down.

Let me interject here: A semi-truck trailer sits about 4.5 feet off the ground. at about 18" off the ground there is a metal bar called the DOT bar, designed to keep a car from running up under the trailer if it hits you from behind. The traditional way to get in and out of these trailers, was to use that metal bar as a step, hold onto the edge of the doorway, and climb in or out the trailer. There were no handles, no other straps, no grab bars, no safety equipment of any kind on the back of the trailers.

As I was unloading at this stop, it had started to snow, and there was a fine layer of snow covering the first 6" or so of the trailer floor, just inside the door. As I went to step down, reaching for the DOT bar, my other foot was sitting on snow, and as my weight shifted, I started to fall. the side of the trailer was slick, as it was wet fiberglass, and so there was nothing to grip, and I fell, coming straight down on my leg. When I hit the ground, I head two distinct pops, and my leg collapsed out from under me, I fell backward onto a pile of tires that was sitting behind me. I think those tires save me from any serious injury to my tailbone when I landed, as well as keeping me from hitting my head when I fell back.

I knew with no doubt, that my leg was broken, I heard it break, I felt it break. I was not yet in pain, but I knew that would come later. I asked the workers to call me an ambulance, as I knew I could not get myself to a hospital. I called my dispatcher and reported to him that my leg was broken, and I called Diann, (My wife), and told her that I had broken my leg, so I would need a ride home, and asked her to come and get me. Then I settled back in the snow and waited for the ambulance to get there.

At this point the employee who I had sent for an ambulance returned with his manager. It went something like this:

"Are you OK?"

"No, I broke my leg, did you call an ambulance?"

"Would you like to come inside? Maybe have a cup of coffee and get warm?"

"No, I cannot walk, I need an ambulance, will you call an ambulance?"

"Would you like me to call anyone? Your company or something?"

"How about an ambulance?"

They finally got the hint and called an ambulance. The fire truck arrived first, and the ambulance shortly after. I explained to them that my leg was broken, and they cut half of my pants off, splinted me up, and helped me stand up and lay down on a stretcher.

On a side note, I didn't want to leave until I was sure my truck was secure. There were approximately $25,000 worth of tires sitting in the back of an open trailer, that I was responsible for. The truck needed to be pulled forward about 5 feet so the back doors would close. Then they could be locked. There were 4 firefighters and 2 EMT's standing there and not a single one of them was willing to drive my truck forward 5 feet. I think finally they called the state police and they sent over a motor carrier enforcement division guy to drive the truck five feet and lock the doors.

They loaded the stretcher, with me on it of course, onto the ambulance and drove to the hospital. I don't remember much about the ride, except that as the shock wore off, the pain kicked in. I still was foolishly operating under the assumption that I would get to the hospital, they would put a cast on my leg, Diann would be there to pick me up by the time they were done, and I would head home.

At the hospital, they transferred me from the stretcher to a gurney, cut the rest of my pants off, took off my splint and wheeled me into an x-ray room. Shortly after the xrays were developed, the ER doctor came in and told me that I had a severe break, and he was calling in their orthopedic specialist to look at it. OK, no problem. Diann was still four hours away and wasn't quite sure where the hospital was anyway, she was just driving through the blizzard towards Grand Rapids.

The orthopedic specialist came in to see me, and informed me that my leg was worse than anything that he had ever treated in his life. He said that he would be willing to attempt it, if I really wanted him to, but he would be much more comfortable referring me to someone who had the skills to do it right. I agreed that I would be more comfortable too, and sat back to wait for the next guy. In the meantime, I asked if maybe I could have something for the pain, and my request was met with shock. Everyone had just assumed that someone else had already given me something, so I had been in severe mind numbing pain for about 2 hours. When the nurse came in to start an IV and give me some morphine, I was on the phone with Diann and I asked her if she would give Diann directions to the hospital. I handed her the phone and overheard just enough of the conversation to realize that:

A) I was not waiting for a different Doctor, I was waiting for another ambulance, that was going to drive me to a different hospital.

B) The nurse had told Diann that there was no hurry, I was going to be there a while, so she should turn around and go home and wait until morning to drive to Grand Rapids.

This was the first I realized that I was not going to get a cast and head home.

The story gets even better from there.
Watch this space for the next chapter, scheduled for release soon.