Of Pensioners, Ramazan, and the Biggest Brain Fart Ever...

Of Pensioners, Ramazan, and the Biggest Brain Fart Ever...

At the end of every month, our Peace Corps stipend is deposited into our Azeri bank accounts. Usually, this happens one or two days before the actual end of the month. Like any self respecting PCV, by the end of the month, I am basically tapped out. I look forward to “payday” with eagerness. This month in particular, I stretched myself even thinner than usual. By the final weekend of September, I was out of cash and getting low on fairly important things like toilet paper and food.

Another fun aspect of getting money in Azerbaijan is the phenomenon that happens when pensions are deposited into pensioners bank accounts. Also falling close to the end of the month, pension day creates madness at the ATM. Suddenly there are hordes – and I do mean hordes – crowding around the ATM. Since there's no such thing as lines here, 30, 40, 100 people all cram as close to the machine as possible, bustling to get to it next. It is pretty much an awful experience. As a general rule, I avoid the bank on pension day. If I walk up and there's a crowd, I'll typically turn around and come back another day.

So, back to money-less Jane at the end of September. Saturday morning, I decided to go check and see if, hopefully, we had gotten paid. So, I grabbed my umbrella – it was raining just a little, not much – and headed downtown. It's about a 20 minute walk. By the time I get to the bank, the drizzle had turned into a downpour. And then I see the crowd around the ATM. Greeeaaaat. I just walked through the pouring rain to discover pension day. I thought for a minute, judged the size of the crowd – only about 20 people – and decided that I didn't want to have walked through the pouring rain in vain, so I joined the crowd and waited.

After about 30 minutes of waiting, the bank security guard who knows me made all of the others let me cut in line. There are perks to being the American qiz (girl). I was flustered. I was annoyed with waiting, I didn't want to take too much time, and there is the added pressure of 20 azeri men peeking over your shoulder at everything you are doing. I stuck my card in the machine and entered my pin number. A few seconds of waiting – and then the message that I had entered the wrong pin. Dumbass! I had typed in the pin for my American bank account. Ok. No problem. Until I tried again... and blanked. For the life of me, my azerpin would not come to mind. Sheepishly grabbing my card, trying to ignore the comments from the azeris – “you need your code”, I walked away. Deep breath, I decided to go home and let the number come back to me in a leisurely fashion. I was sure it would come to me.

Sunday morning, I woke up with a 4 digit number that I knew by heart. Must be my pin. So, I went back to the ATM (no droves of pensioners this day!), and tried again. Only to realize just too late that the number I know so well isn't my pin, but is the last 4 digits of my old sitemate Ashley's home phone number. I don't know why I know that number so well, but it is definitely not my pin. At this point, I had tried the wrong number 3 times – which automatically blocks your account until you can call or go to the bank and get them to reopen it. So even if I suddenly came up with the right number, I couldn't do anything about it. Fine. The next day was Monday. I could get it resolved quickly.

On Monday, I called the bank and got some weird Azer message. So, I called Peace Corps. I explained my predicament to the lovely PC cashier, Afaq. She quickly explained the weird azer message – it is the end of Ramazan. Azerbaijan has a 3-day holiday. The bank is closed until Thursday. And, because of that, there is nothing that can be done until then. Well, crap.

At this point, I was annoyed, frustrated, kicking myself, limiting myself to 3 squares of TP, and eating plain rice for breakfast and dinner (I had decided to forgo lunch for a few days to make it stretch a few days longer). At least I could see how ridiculous my predicament was and laugh at myself! A bail out infusion of cash into my American bank account from my mom and dad meant that Tuesday evening I was able to buy toilet paper and some food. Thank God for Mom and Dad (for more reasons, of course, than getting me money, but that's a big one this week)!

Now, at this point, any sane person (and every person that has already heard this story) would ask if I had the number written down somewhere. Well, about a month ago, I was going through old papers and clearing out stuff I didn't need anymore. I came across my code. And, truly, I thought, “I don't need this anymore. I've been using this thing for over a year. There's no way I'll forget.” And I chucked it. Word to the wise – just don't ever do that. It will come back to bite you in the butt. Keep the paper. Keep it.

And, FINALLY, Thursday was here. I went to the bank right when it opened to try to get everything sorted out. In my broken, feeble Azeri, I explained to the man that I had forgotten my pin code and my account was blocked. He was able to unblock it, but if I couldn't remember the code, I still wouldn't be able to access my account. The bank could get money for me today, but I would have to get a new card and new pin number. After several phone calls and conversations and sitting around for about an hour and a half, I nervously approached the ATM again. I think I know the number.... I hope. I typed in the number. Big pause... and what comes up on the screen? Incorrect pin. Crap. Have I said that before? I'll say it again. Crap. Apparently the number is well and truly lost in the abyss of my brain.

I sheepishly went back into the bank, laughingly told the guy “Kod bilmirem” (I don't know the code). He tsked. He and the other employee in the office lectured me – again – to write the number down. He accessed my account and gave me some money (yay, I can pay rent and eat!!!), and reminded me to have Peace Corps order me a new card. I immediately called Afaq, who laughed and lamented with me and started the process to get me a new ATM card. I should have it in about two weeks.

You can bet that I'll be writing my new pin number down. Maybe getting it tattooed somewhere. Because I am sure not going through this experience again.