Let me make a confession. The crime I've committed buries me among the seedy ranks of sexist car salesmen, email spammers, suburban teenage panhandlers, dog owners who don't pick up, and (though I cringe to admit it) The Psychic Hotline. There is no excuse for what I did. But I was on deadline for a whip-cracking editor, and I had used all my deposit slips for bandages, and I needed that cold case of Bud to soothe my welts, and I had given my last two bucks to a crusty rain forest activist, and, and – I did it! I bounced a check.
But I've reformed! My friends and family never thought it would be possible, what with my propensity for making crucial deposits late and using my bank’s monthly statements as kindling. But this behavior isn’t a case of attention-deficit disorder, nor of reckless bourgeois rebellion against corporate America. I've tried to work their system – balancing checkbooks, saving ATM stubs, punching the correct code into the phone – but it didn't work for me. Until I jacked in to online banking a year ago.
Wells Fargo Bank – spin doctor of a new, bloodless Wild West where bandits cash your checks behind glass windows in climate-controlled concrete stagecoaches – has given me an alternative to people, paper, and temporary poverty due to inþated overdraft fees, thanks to the bank's outpost on the Internet.
Soon after a quick registration process, I was monitoring my checking account balance and transactions via my browser, downloading my account history, reordering checks, and using the ATM/branch locator for an upcoming road trip to the desert. My neglected savings account also popped up onscreen, boasting a balance of US$4.43, which inspired me to quickly transfer some bills – something I used to pledge I'd do with every paycheck, but rarely did.
Banking online with Wells Fargo is free (a surprise from an institution that slaps fees on most phone and ATM transactions). Using its online bill-paying service will set you back five bucks a month, but my buddy Hank the traveling minstrel swears by its convenience and reliability. If the bank loses my deposit (a recent nightmare), I'm much more likely to catch it online than in my (groan) archaic monthly statements.
Now, instead of taking a coffee break between spellchecks, I crank up my modem and scope out my accounts. I'm already an addict. Every so often I'll test drive their system and transfer funds back and forth between checking and savings to see if those cowboys can keep up. So far, they have. Next, I'll master online bill paying – anyone know the sound of one cybercheck bouncing? This article originally appeared in the October issue of Wired magazine.
To subscribe to Wired magazine, send email to subscriptions@wired.com, or call +1 (800) SO WIRED.
