Do More and Accomplish Less

I know you were thinking, “So,” you were thinking, “I assume that long, painstaking, and stunningly learned entry for the Oxford Dictionary of the Middle Ages is coming along swimmingly?”

As a matter of fact: No. And here’s why it did not come along swimmingly yesterday.

All I had to do was make a little adjustment to my benefits here at Underfunded University. The deadline is October 31. Notice! How early I have started! How virtuous my foresight! Plenty of time! Yes?

They tell us this re-enrolling has to be done by computer. So by virtue of shouting at the screen, tearing my hair out in huge clumps, gnashing my teeth, pounding the desk with both fists, and swearing a blue streak, I was able to get the three blanks in the first form filled out in just under an hour. Even though I may now have to undergo Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome every time I see the words “Please wait while screen reloads” for the rest of my life.

But then I had to move on to the second form.

Underfunded University has once again changed our retirement plans, and in particular our 403b plans, which are those things where you put tax-free money in and it comes out all swelled up and prosperous many years later when you retire. Somehow Fidelity has gotten ahold of most of the options, and we all got a plump packet of pamphlets from Fidelity, seeking to explain how the new system worked.

My friend Dr Eminent was here to goad me on, and we both looked over the fat pamphlets and the cover letter. Imagine that engraving of Tenniel’s, the one that shows the Mock Turtle with tears running down his cheeks, while Alice and the Gryphon look on —

These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of “Hjckrrh!” from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle.

But I digress. That’s what Dr. Em and I looked like, trying to figure out the pamphlets from Fidelity. The pamphlets directed us on how to set up new accounts with Fidelity. But I already have a 403b account with Fidelity. All I wanted to know was how to add the extra “catch-up” amount to my deduction. So, you know, I can catch up and be filthy rich and employ someone to read my pamphlets to me and fill out the forms. So after some minutes of Turtle-like mournfulness, I resolved to call the Help number on the Fidelity cover letter.

It turns out calling the Help number is not as simple as it sounds. Here was the question I wanted to ask: “How would I go about adding the catch-up money to my deduction?” You wouldn’t think they would need my specifics to answer that. But first the recorded voice wanted my social security number. So I hung up and called from my landline, just in case the nosy neighbors were listening in, as I do to — well, never mind about that. Anyway, I gave the recorded voice my social security number. Then the recorded voice said I needed to set up a secure phone account. But hey! I don’t even know if I want to stay with Fidelity! Especially with all this palaver. I just want to ask one generic question!

But okay. I put in my birthdate. I had to devise a security code number, between 6 and 15 digits, without them all being the same, like 1-1-1-1-1-1, or consecutive, like 1-2-3-4-5-6, or counting down, like 6-5-4-3-2-1. It took some time to listen to all the things it couldn’t be. I devised a number. Then I had to enter it a second time, to make sure. Then I had to choose a security question from a menu of five possible questions. The first option was “Who was your best friend in high school?” My mind went through rapid-fire calculations. Should I say my best friend freshman year, or my best friend junior year, or one of the people I hung out with most when — but we were on to the next option. “What was the model of your first car?” The first car I drove? But my parents had two cars; which of them would I say? The first car I owned? Or — but we were on to the next question. Finally we were left with “What street did you grow up on?” Now the street I grew up on had a funny name, being probably the only street in the world with this name. Imagine something like “First Boulevard of County Line.” What would the one-word summary of that street be? First? Boulevard? County? Line? I don’t suppose they’d have accepted “Of.”

Then I reflected that heaven and hell would pass over before I’d ever phone Fidelity again, so it probably didn’t matter; so I put one of those words in. Then I had to put it in a second time, for security reasons. Retirement age was zooming toward me rapidly. Finally the recorded voice confirmed that I had set up my Fidelity phone account. Then a few brief quarter-hours of easy-listening music, and finally a Fidelity Representative came on the line.

The first thing he wanted to do was to confirm my name, and then ask me my middle initial. Okay, okay. Then I asked, triumphantly, “How would I go about adding the catch-up money to my deduction?”

“You have to call your Benefits office,” he said.

Fortunately Dr. Em has a strong constitution, so she was able to endure my fit of swearing and my nervous breakdown with aplomb.

So I looked up “Benefits” in the Underfunded University phone book. It said “See Human Resources.” So I phoned Human Resources. I said, ““How would I go about adding the catch-up money to my deduction?” They said, “We’ll transfer you to Benefits.”

Benefits was not in. It may be that they are hiding out. Anyway, I left a message. Bless their hearts, within 24 hours they had e-mailed me. It turns out you can’t sign up for the catch-up deduction on the computer. You fill out a form on a piece of paper and send it to them in campus mail. Or at least that’s the story so far.

So that’s how I spent my afternoon. And that’s why my entry for the Oxford Dictionary of the Middle Ages is a little less long, a little less painstaking, and and a little less stunningly learned than it might be. And all I have to say is “Hjckrrh!”