Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Why Trevor is no longer allowed to have plastic money...

It is time to start trying to get back to business as usual, folks.  And what better way than with the latest (and possibly greatest?) Trevorism?  Because, you guys: That man.  He kills me.

It all started with the Stars game on Wednesday, April 9th.  A friend of the family randomly offered us AH-mazing tickets at the very last minute, which worked out fabulously because we had a sitter that night and nowhere to go.  Even though Trevor sort of had to sell me on the whole thing, because a hockey game isn’t exactly a candle lit dinner for two.  And, let’s face it.  I’ve had a hard time lately NOT being an antisocial hermit.  So, he offered to be my sugar daddy for the evening.  Dinner, beer…even t-shirt.  All I had to do was say “yes”.

First world hockey problems:  Being so close to the ice that
you can't see the actual game because the coaches are in the way.

So off to the American Airlines Center we went.  Except things didn't go exactly as planned.  Mainly the whole Trevor-is-my-sugar-daddy for the evening.  Because Trevor left his wallet at home.  Supposedly “by accident”. 

(Yeah, I didn’t buy it either.)

In short, I paid for dinner, beer, parking at the AAC (OMG, that alone was $25!) and the babysitter.  And I didn’t get a shirt because apparently they don’t make them with Trevor Daley’s name and number, and he is my favorite player.  It is like my name mated with Trevor’s and produced a professional hockey player.  What’s not to like?  Plus, Trevor Daley is a total bada$$ and not only took a puck to the face, but scored the Stars only goal that night.  Seriously, why doesn’t this man have a shirt?!  I'm looking at YOU, #DallasStars!

But I digress.

The next day I discovered my debit card was missing, and I realized that I hadn’t seen it since Trevor borrowed it for the all-important beer run before the start of the 3rd period the previous evening.  So, I called him at work to inquire as to the card’s whereabouts.  He *thought* it was just in his jeans pocket, so I didn’t cancel it right away.  He even made it sound like he found it on Thursday evening when he got home, which made the Friday morning, “Oh, yeah.  I’ve been meaning to tell you.  I never found your card,” conversation all the more frustrating.  Luckily, the damage was minimal in the form of a $3 mystery charge late Thursday night (24+ hours after I last saw the card at the game).  I didn’t think much of it, but – according to the Customer Service Rep at my bank – it very likely could have been a Test Charge (where thieves test to see if the card works before draining the account).  So, obviously, it could have been a lot worse.

As punishment or retribution, I again declared Trevor to be my sugar daddy until my new debit card arrived in 7-10 business days.  This sounded like an awesome plan until said sugar daddy left his credit card at Ozona’s Saturday morning.  I guess it is lucky I have credit cards as backup? 

Then, Thursday evening (April 17th), Trevor had a boy’s night downtown and lost his entire wallet.  He noticed it when he got home around 9 PM, and drove back to Chase Tower to see if someone had turned it in.  They hadn’t.  He also scoured the floor and parking garage to no avail. 

Defeated, he started driving home.  He was merging on to Central Expressway when he saw something that looked a lot like his wallet lying in the middle of the road.  He pulled over, and – sure enough – it was.  Minus his ID, concealed handgun license, credit and debit cards.  Because, OF COURSE.

Trevor wasn’t going to cancel anything that night because he was “tired”.  No.  Not kidding.  That is what he said.  AND HE WORKS IN FINANCE.  FOR A GINORMOUS BANK.  It is times like these that I’m glad we never got around to merging our finances; save for a single joint banking account.  An account, might I add, that I had the debit cards canceled and reissued before Trevor got even pulled into the garage that night.

And because there was no way I was going to allow that man to go to sleep without canceling everything in his wallet that had been stolen, I looked up websites, dialed numbers and did everything in my power to help with the process.  Because I’m nothing but paranoid supportive.  Trevor wanted to quit after cancelling his cards and concealed handgun license, but I pointed out that he had to file a police report before he could request a new driver’s license.  Poor, silly man thought this could take place over the phone and was dismayed to discover that it required a visit from an officer.  This, of course, is how a very annoyed, tired and whiney Trevor ended up opening the door for a uniformed officer at 11 PM that evening.

The officer, bless him, backed me up on the whole you-really-need-to-do-this-now bit; especially since whoever took the wallet now possessed two forms of state issued ID.  He also encouraged Trevor MULTIPLE TIMES to put a fraud alert on his SSN, but the man didn’t get around to it until I called and pestered at him about it around 3 PM on Good Friday.  Trev’s excuse?  “I’ve been busy”.  My response?  “You know what isn’t going to matter if someone steals your ID?  That you were busy.”

I won.

But I digress.  Again. 

The officer was about to leave when the evening took an interesting turn.  The cop started asking Trevor where he went to school, and before I knew it the two had discovered that they knew each other.  Apparently, they used to work in collections together six or seven years ago (at that ginormous bank I mentioned earlier) before the officer left to join the force around the time of the financial crisis in 2008.  All of a sudden, they were gabbing like teenage girls about who was married, who had kids, who was divorcing and all sorts of related water cooler-type gossip. 

Meanwhile, there I was on the couch staring at them and wondering what had just happened.

While the cop seemed to regret his decision to leave the financial world for the Dallas Police Department, Trevor was THRILLED to learn that he could have a backup career in law enforcement.  I’m not going to lie.  The whole situation was a little weird.

Because all this happened the evening before Good Friday and the long Easter weekend, I got to be Trevor’s sugar mama.  This was only made possible by the fact that I received my new debit card in the mail on Thursday afternoon.  Still, because I’m a meanie, I made Trevor take his lunch with him to work on Friday and Monday.  You should have seen his face when I told him where the cooler lunch sacks were stored in the kitchen.  You would have thought I smacked him in the face.  Poor, poor Trevor.

Trevor never did get around to going to the DMV, which just about drove me crazy because there is no way to notify the State of Texas that your license is stolen until you show up with a police report number to get a new one.  And because I am a catastrophist, I was busy envisioning all these horrible situations involving The Bad People using Trevor’s ID for evil things.  But Trevor?  The man could not have cared less no matter what ridiculous completely realistic scenario I tossed his way.  Why?  Because he had “his passport”.  A comment I found very confusing.  Mainly because a passport isn’t a driver’s license.  But for whatever reason, having a passport was very calming to Trevor, and removed all need for any sense of urgency.

And, tragically, all his procrastinating totally paid off because some Good Samaritan in Rockwall, Texas found his license and mailed it back last week.  So now he doesn’t even need to go to the DMV at all.


In other news, Trevor nearly lost all my wedding rings on Easter Sunday and left the diaper bag at Frontiers of Flight on Saturday afternoon.  I fear we aren't out of the woods yet.

You know what would make all this better?
A Trevor Daley t-shirt!
(Not letting this one go!!)

1 comment:

RR said...

Oh my word, do not let him leave the house with Banner. Trevor will come back, and Banner will be left propped up on the counter of a burger joint somewhere.

I miss you guys.