Capital One

I’m in the desert.

It’s close to 5.00pm, my legs are tired after six hours of strenuous hiking, I’m dripping with sweat and I stink of the day’s exertions. Today is relatively cool – around 100 in the valley and probably 5-10 degrees cooler here in the mountains.

I’m in familiar territory – ending the spectacular Wildhorse ridge trail and moving onto the Garstin – but time is rushing towards sunset and I’m in danger of not reaching the great wash before the sun creeps below the far mountains and the path becomes difficult to follow. Half an hour after that it will be dark and I am not prepared for walking in darkness. I’m trying to hurry, but most of the path at this point is steep and loose or requires careful placing of boots on rocks. Concentration on the ground is essential.

The phone rings.

In years gone by, there would be no such interruption. I have the cell phone for emergencies but omitted to switch it off after swapping some text messages earlier at a rest stop. Of course, I could ignore it or turn it off now, but there’s something about the insistent ring that demands to be acknowledged. I have become a slave to technology.

Without my glasses, I have no idea who’s calling – it may be a friend, a business acquaintance or a complete waste of time – but there’s only one way to find out.

It’s the Capital One credit card company.

A young-sounding Melissa asks to speak to me, thus indicating her attention level when I answered the phone by name. She wants to sell me protection insurance which would pay my credit card in the event that I am unemployed and begins to describe it in the halting terms of someone who’s reading from a screen.

Of course, I could simply hang up, but that would be rude and I don’t want to spoil Melissa’s day after such a spectacular one of my own. Besides, this justifies slowing the pace for a few moments and then I come to a complete stop because – being a man – I can’t do two things at once; talking on the phone and walking are two separate activities. God help us if men tried to text and drive.

Melissa’s description is riddled with clichéd stock-phrases; extraneous words worked into the text to bolster the product but which make it meaningless by their abundance. I am always referred to as the primary card holder, the beneficiary is you or a loved one and my job situation is gainful employment. The way in which these words are glued together is reminiscent of the one and only Christian Christmas church service I attended, where the words Jesus Christ Almighty could not be separated and the clinical manner of their repetitive bonding and the requirement to specify the phrase an exact number of times made me giggle.

The low cost of this important benefit is based on the current balance and I interrupt to say that my balance is zero, but it causes no more than a brief pause. It is 99 cents per hundred dollars of authorized credit limit. I want to ask what happens if I have strayed over my credit limit, whether the price would be reflected by the actual balance and I want to know the situation if I was not in gainful employment, but I can predict what confusion such questions would create and limit myself to the facts as presented.

He sun’s travelled another five minutes towards the jagged horizon by the time we get to the crunch point and Melissa asks whether I am interested. I am not and my negative response provokes her to ask whether I am in gainful employment. What’s the best answer, I wonder, so I go with ‘not working at this time,’ but it’s the wrong one and she tells me how I’m a perfect candidate.

I must end this conversation quickly and continue with the hike before I am left at the mercy of whatever creatures eat people during the dark hours in the desert mountains but first I decide to have a little fun. Maybe it’ll help her grow into a wise and wonderful person.

“So,” I begin, “This insurance would pay my credit card in the event of unemployment?”

“Exactly.”

“The entire balance?”

“Oh no.” There is noticeably less confidence. “Just the minimum payment.”

“And I could sign up for it even though I am currently not working?”

“Certainly.” She sounds a little happier.

“And it would pay immediately – since I would still be unemployed when the payment is due?”

“You’re not in gainful employment right now? You might have to go one cycle first.”

“I work fixed term contracts and, when they end, I am unemployed until the next one begins with a new company at some future, unspecified date. So what defines employment or, as you call it – gainful employment?”

“You would have to submit your employment details when you sign up.”

“Hmm. The cost is a little under one percent of the balance?”

“Oh no. The low cost of this important benefit for you or a loved one is only ninety-nine cents per hundred dollars.” The returning brightness in Melissa’s voice is not reflected in her mathematical ability.

“Right – which is almost one percent. The minimum payment is two and a half percent, so your charge for this insurance is more than a third of the possible benefit. Let’s talk real numbers for a moment. If my balance was $5,000, the minimum payment would be $125 – but you’d charge me fifty bucks per month to cover that. Doesn’t seem like much of a deal.”

“But isn’t it worth the peace of mind for you or a loved one in the case that you lose gainful employment through no fault of your own…?

“You mean I have to get fired? What about natural end of a fixed term contract?”

“If you lose gainful employment through no fault of your own…”

Melissa continues to ramble whilst I start to slowly walk, picking my way over the rocks and thinking about the setting sun and the utter surreal quality of this conversation. Situations like this do not happen to other people. Or do they? How can I be concerned about being lost in the dark in the desert, whilst arguing about credit card insurance with a young girl who knows nothing about it? When I next concentrate of the tinny voice in my ear, I realize I have no idea what Melissa’s said, so I switch gears and go back to being a Polite Person.

“Thanks, but no.”

She tries to argue, but I interrupt – politely, of course and in a very nice tone. I would transmit a smile down the line if I could.

“It really doesn’t apply to me, but I really appreciate you taking the time to call and speak with me about it. Please, have a lovely evening. Goodbye.”

I hang up before she has a chance to say anything more, turn off the phone and trudge into the setting sun. At least, if I should die out here tonight in the teeth of a mountain lion or a coyote, fall from a cliff face in the dark or get bitten by a bunch of man-hunting snakes, my last few words to another person will have been nice ones.