A Few Words About Hives. And a Stupidity Rant.

First of all, thanks to those of you who commiserated with my day of misery yesterday. A few years ago, I was hospitalized twice within two weeks (second time with an ambulance ride from the Pentagon to Arlington Hospital) for a severe allergic reaction to ... something. Each attack began with an outbreak of hives, so I've been (understandably) nervous about the hives that have been popping up over the last two weeks. If you aren't familiar with hives (the medical term, I now know, is urticaria), they are red, blotchy swellings that are generally harmless reactions to some allergy trigger. They are maddeningly itchy and can just drive you crazy. Yesterday, it was crazy. I spent all day popping Benadryl capsules like candy, smearing Benadryl cream on the worst areas, and taking cold baths and showers (a side benefit of all that, from Agnes's perspective, was that I wasn't bothering her, if you get my drift).

I have a follow-up appointment with the allergy doctor this morning, and I think we'll go through the same kabuki dance we did a few years ago. I kept an "allergy diary" for about six months, dutifully documenting everything I ate and drank, every product I used, all the soaps and detergents we used, etc, etc. The doctor tested me for allergic reactions to everything you can imagine (involving little pinpricks up and down both arms and all over my back). The result: nothing. We never learned what caused the severe reactions, and the only thing all the tests showed I was allergic to was - ready for this? - lamb. Considering that I don't care much for lamb, and we haven't eaten any in years, I found this not especially helpful. Bottom line: we never found out what I was allergic to...hence, my concern over the return of the hives (in addition to the general misery of constant itch).

But you didn't come here to listen to me whine about hives, so let me launch into a typical rant about something really stupid.

About three years ago I used a credit card to pay for gas at the pump at my local gas station. When I slid the card back into my pocket, I somehow managed to miss the target, and the card fell unnoticed to the ground. I noticed it was missing several hours later and quickly called the card company to cancel it...but not before someone had used it to run up several hundred dollars worth of charges. I wasn't held liable for the charges, partly because I'd reported the loss quickly and partly because it was obvious from my credit history that I wasn't likely to have charged a few hundred dollars worth of long distance calls to Africa.

After that, in an attempt to try to make my credit cards unusable by thieves, I stopped signing them on the back. Instead, in the signature space I write some variation on: "Do not accept this card unless photo ID is also provided." I then offer my driver's license with the card whenever I use it. Much of the time, the clerk/server/cashier just hands the license back without looking at it, but I feel a little better, anyhow, on those occasions when they do check the name and photo against my card and face (not that I look that much like my driver's license photo, but who does?).

So...

Late yesterday afternoon I felt good enough to make a quick run to the local post office to mail a packet of new photos of Leya to Agnes's parents in Germany. When I reached the counter, the clerk weighed the packet and announced that first class airmail postage would be $3.60. I handed her my debit/credit card from my credit union, along with my driver's license. She looked at the license, turned the card over, and announced, "I can't accept this card."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it's not signed. It says right on the back, 'Not valid unless signed'."

"Yes," I replied, but I'm giving you a photo ID that lets you verify that I'm who I say I am. If I had signed the card, how would you know the card wasn't stolen?"

"Sir, it's not my rule." she said firmly. "The card isn't signed, and I can't accept it."

As usual, being utterly without cash, I fought down my strangle-the-idiot reflex and asked what she would accept as payment.

"Cash, check, or debit card," she replied.

I ground my teeth, wrote a check for $3.60, and handed it to her.

"Can I see a photo ID, please?" she asked.

"You mean, the same photo ID you wouldn't accept to validate my credit card is good enough to validate my signature on a check?" I asked innocently.

She glared at me, not appreciating my witty repartee. "Sir, it's not my rule. It's the bank's rule. Do you need to talk to a supervisor?"

Since I hate being kept waiting in line by people who make useless fusses at checkouts, I just swallowed my irritation and handed over the driver's license. The woman carefully compared the tiny digitally-reproduced signature on the license with my manly scrawl on the check, and handed the license back, along with my receipt and the standard, "Have a nice day."

Now, is it just me, or is this stupid? To me, if someone is going to check the validity of the card at all, it would make more sense to see a photo of the owner, rather than a signature that anyone might be able to forge. But that's just me, trying to be logical. The best part of the whole thing was that I could have used the card as a debit card, whether or not it was signed...the theory being that only the owner would know the PIN number (yes, I know that's redundant) and be able to use it.

Sigh.

Okay, I'm done. Time to go and hit the Benadryl cream again. This morning, the hives seem to be limited just to my lower legs. I hope they stay there...I don't need to take another day of sick leave just to stay home and scratch. I remember the good old days, when hives were just the places where bees made honey.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo