Published: August 12, 2008 06:37 pm            

Does stupidity hurt my credit score?

Sometimes we find profound answers through lost causes. However, I'll skip enlightenment when it comes to missing bank card matters.

As somewhat a lost cause myself, I've come to the conclusion that life is full of losses both tangible and untouchable: love, innocence, a dollar in the pop machine at work. When it comes to misplaced things and missed opportunities, there have been losses great and small. Oftentimes, losing something is the only way to discover its true value.

However, it's hard to wax philosophical when your ATM card is lost.

This past week, while standing in the grocery store checkout line, I had one of those uh-oh moments. My wallet, typically devoid of cash, was missing the ATM card across from my daughter's happy-go-lucky school photo. I quickly rifled through the flotsam of old library cards, used-car salesman business cards and expired insurance cards wedged into my wallet. I sheepishly stepped out of line to let the paying customers by. Out of desperation, I even pulled out a few receipts from Christmas 2002 and checked behind my wife's 1989 senior picture.

I'm sure my denial was painful to watch; akin to the guy who repeatedly tries every locked car door even though his keys are in the ignition. Then again, a bent coat hanger can't unlock an ATM card conundrum.

Retracing my steps or, in this case, cash withdraw slips, the paper trail in my wallet stopped at a local bank ATM. After informing my banking institution of my ineptitude -- does stupidity hurt your credit score? -- I went back to the bank in question to demonstrate further financial genius.

It is a moment like this that I envision Ira T. shaking his head.

My 92-year-old grandfather has never used an automated teller machine in his life. Nor would he pay a $3.25 ATM processing fee to get his own money. A salt-of-the-earth farmer and sharp real estate broker, grandpa was savvy, but never shrewd about money matters.

This is the difference between the Greatest Generation and the instant gratification generation. A coffee can of cash buried in the back yard or money under the mattress is not FDIC-insured, but money in the bank isn't always money in the IndyMac Bank. Although Grandpa would not call filling an empty Folgers French Vanilla with your life's savings a wise investment.

Unfortunately, I did not inherit my grandfather's money sense -- his sense of humor, perhaps. After all, who walks away from a beeping ATM without their card? Perhaps the type of person too busy muttering "!#$$ ATM processing fee" to an inanimate object.

After pleading my case to the bank teller, she opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of ATM cards thicker than an Olympic weight lifter's neck. Evidently I was not the only one suffering temporary mental bankruptcy while using their ATM. I found the answer to my lost cause -- with a bit of enlightenment that can't be crammed back in a wallet.

        

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