"Oh did you get mail?" Miles asked as I ripped into an envelope. I found the obvious question unworthy of him, but swallowed a smart remark. He waited with abated breath for my reply.

After a small passage of time and deciding not to allow him to go on thinking that I was committing a federal offense, I responded affirmatively. From the tattered edges of the torn envelope, I could see that the paper was detailed in a creamy white with pale gold designs. A six-horse stagecoach sprawled across the page while some black type overlapped. A wallet-sized bit of plastic shone against the early morning light.

...

I opened the account while in college for they had a branch near my school and one near my home. It sat dormant during the three years I lived in Wilmington, as Wilmington is too lazy have have Wells Fargo banks. Last week, I went to summon the all-but-forgotten checking account into the land of the living. It was a stand-up, dependable sort of account which, fee-free and big-brotherly, had guarded every penny of that $5.49 I had left in its care.

They had to re-take all of my information, and I wondered more than once if simply opening a new account would have been easier after all...I was quite the Monday morning fiasco for one frazzled bank employee. "Good Grief! We have to order all new stuff!" And there was I, without a life preserver, left to drown in a sea of choice. "Check design?" "Doubles or singles?" "Overdraft protection?" "Mayo or Miracle Whip?"

I pulled my elevated breathing into the still of the morning as I raked a shaky hand through my tousled hair. Staggering uncomfortably, I leaned my weight against the counter and pressed my damp forehead against the cold plexiglass that smelled of verdigrised pennies and tootsie rolls. Clearing her throat hesitantly, the bank employee asked in a small voice, "Debit card?"

...

It was difficult to read the text as I found myself caught up in the pretty illustrations in the watermark of the form. Miles leaned over my shoulder and asked conversationally, "So you got your debit card?" The question was worthy of our dear Jason, the wee one and North Carolinian of all North Carolinians, who once maintained a website under the name master of the obvious.

"Yes," I answered unnecessarily. "No PIN, though." In unison and unrehearsed we muttered, "They send those separately." I shrugged unconcernedly, and offered in all seriousness as I stuffed the pretty letter back into the envelope, "...should make it easier to use it responsibly."

Miles grunted and muttered something that sounded unsettlingly like, "...whole damn family is crazy..."