The (credit) card trick

People Like Us

"What offer?" I say grumpily. "For a loan," says the voice, "at a very low rate of interest." "I'm not interested in a loan," I say. "Yes you are," she says promptly, "if you'll just give me five minutes."

"I don't have five minutes," I snap. "Can I call back later?" continues Shalini with no change in inflexion. "Yes, later," I say, hoping to get her off the phone.

Before I've had breakfast, I've refused offers for free credit cards ("Why don't you want it," pleads Amrita, "it's really free"), trial options for more loans, restaurant membership options, interest free banking, home banking and a zillion other offers.

Harpreet from some unidentified bank wants me to convert my car loan into a fresh one at a lower rate of interest, involving no formalities and no paperwork.

"How will you do that?" I ask, perking up. "I need your date of birth," says Harpreet, "and I'll need three passport size-photographs, proof of identity, your salary certificate, a photocopy of your updated passbook, and copies of the car papers."

"I thought no paperwork was involved," I say to her. "Listen," says Harpreet, "do you want the loan or not?" "Not," I clarify.

"Pardon?" says Harpreet in astonishment. "I don't want the loan," I tell her. "No, nyet, nix, nahin. Comprehend?" "If you don't want a loan," gripes Harpreet, "why are you wasting my time?"

On the way to office, I pay a thousand rupee fine because I'm telling Lillian of MasterCard that the first-year trial membership is a very good option, but I'm not interested, really.

"Let me send an agent to your office," Lillian continues to try her luck, "He'll explain the offer, and you don't need to pay anything."

"And there's no paperwork, right?" I say sarcastically. "No paperwork," Lillian agrees. "Except copies of my salary slip, and passbook, and any other credit card I'm holding."

Right," says Lillian." "Listen," I tell her, "I've just been fined a thousand rupees for speaking to you on my cell phone. Do you think I might be able to bill it to your company?" Lillian doesn't think so, and hangs up in a hurry.

Cash gone, I'm actually grateful for my credit card so I can fill petrol in the car, and pull up at a gas station. To the attendant who comes forward, I hand over my key and credit card.

"What you need is this card," says the attendant, who turns out to be a salesman in disguise, "look at the options it offers."

"I don't want a credit card," I scream, "I just want petrol." "It's not a credit card," points out the salesman reasonably, "it's a petrol card, and the more you spend, the more points you earn."

"I don't want points," I say, "or gifts, or anything else, all I want is petrol." "You can charge it on your new card," he says helpfully, "if you're carrying some proof of identity."

I drive out in a rage instead, and the car promptly stalls in the middle of traffic, so I have to call my service station to send a crane.

"Can I interest you in our annual maintenance and service membership card," says the operator over the phone, "that is most helpful in situations such as this."

"No," I say firmly, "all I want is a crane so that you can remove the car, and I can take a taxi home."

Later at night, I'm finally relaxing, when the phone rings, "Good evening Sir," says Shalini of Standard Chartered cheerfully, "I hope you've had a nice day. Now about the loan..."