"Do you have a flag?"

Yesterday, I arrived home from work to the usual tedium: throw in some laundry, open the mail, lament the offerings of Adelphia digital cable.

Then, I came across a surprising piece of mail. My credit-card company had sent me---unsolicited---a new card. Same number. Same name. No noticeable changes.

No changes, that is, except the fucking enormous American flag emblazoned across the card's face.

Setting aside the flag thing for a second, I decided to call the credit-card company. I see enough fraud everyday to make me a leetle beet paranoid. (Common scheme: get ahold of someone's personal data; order a new card for an existing account; intercept new card in the mail as it arrives; buy televisions and subwoofers.)

Deftly navigating my way through the various menus (through the cunning and repetitive use of the "0" key), I reached a human being:

Maryanne: This is Maryanne. How can I assist you, today?
Stanley: Um, hi, Maryanne. You guys sent me a new card. I wanted to make sure there was no funny business---that no one had compromised my, um, information.
M: Nope, no funny business. Just a new card with better security in the magnetic strip. Would you like me to activate that card for you today {and then offer you a bunch of other shit you don't want either}?
S: So you guys want me to use this card now. . . .
M: Mm-hmm. That's right.
S: I see. . . . I'm not really fond of the, um, aesthetics of the card.
M: [Awkward silence.]
S: [Awkward silence.]
M: You mean the flag?
S: Uh, yeah, . . . I mean, I liked the old card. It was really simple---elegant, almost.
M: Oh . . . Well, I can send you out a new one.
S: [overly ecsctatic] You can?! That'd be great!

In sum: the credit-card company may have violated the law. And, after my snub of Amuricka, I've probably been placed on the list for FISA-free surveillance.

Seventh-circle bastards . . .