First thing Pat said from the living room as I walked in the house was: "Chase sent you an e-mail you'd better look at."

I must have been in a foul mood, which rarely happens. I snapped: Forget it. They write to me all the time.

"No," Pat insisted as I came around the corner. "They said you need to re-set your password or something like that."

The only time I like computers is when I need to write or read something. Re-setting passwords irks me. That takes time, and then I have to remember them.

I opened the e-mail and proceeded to get angry. Chase was saying my online access was being restricted because of the many times I tried to get on and failed.

I proceeded to become angrier as I filled out Chase's personal information questionnaire. I did as I was directed, filled out every information line and clicked submit.

It came back at me, and now I'm hot. The new direction was to fill in the highlighted area. I had Pat look at the screen, and she couldn't see a highlighted area.

I was fuming as I dialed the 800 number on my debit card.

Customer service turned out to be this sweet, soft-talking woman. Well, she wasn't going to get away with that. I intended to run her over like a Mack truck.

"How are you, Mr. Escobar?" she asked nicely.

I wanted to go back to being a good guy, but I couldn't. I've never yelled at customer service, live or on the phone, and I was going to enjoy this.

I'm angry. I'm really upset, I said rather rudely.

"Oh that's too bad. How can I help you?"

I just received an e-mail from you guys saying my online access has been restricted. It says I've failed too many times when I've tried to get on. But I haven't had that problem, and this really ticks me off.

"Can you wait a minute while I check something?"

I waited, tapping my foot to keep the anger going. She came back.

"Mr. Escobar, our records show the last time you failed to get on was a long time ago."

That's what I said, I reiterated angrily.

"Mr. Escobar," she asked, "did you go to that page from a link on the e-mail?"

Yes.

"Mr. Escobar, we don't send out e-mails like that with links."

You mean it's a scam?

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Embarrassment.

But it has your logo, and it really looks like it's from you.

"The bad guys are pretty sophisticated."

The lady helped me re-set everything and advised me to run my anti-virus. I thanked her but forgot to apologize. All I could think of was my long-deceased father.

"Think before you act," he used to say.