Monday, October 5, 2009

Why I Hate Being A Son Of Immigrants

Because they can't speak English perfectly, I feel I have to do things for them -- like calling their credit card company to dispute charges. Of course, this means that I have to remember details when they ask me security questions, like the last four digits of their social security number.

So I ask My Mother, which she's told me countless times before but I forget as soon as she tells me. Then I call the credit card company. I'm all ready for the rep to ask me, "What are the last four digits of your social security number?"

But instead he goes: "What's your birthdate?"

I hesitate. Then I hang up. You fucking kidding me? Now he knows I'm a liar. Goddamn, why can't My Mother just do this her damn self?

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