What's almost -- well, not really -- as bad as having a teen-ager stick a knife to your wife's throat and scamper with her purse is working with friendly assistant bank managers to reconstruct your life and finances.
You need new checks. Right. They come back two weeks later with the number of your savings account on them. So, before you notice, all your checks that clear draw on your savings.
You need a new automatic teller machine card. Right. You get one a week later. The machine says it's no good.
You go back to that nice assistant bank manager, the one who helped with your checkbook. She says you need a new password. Why didn't you tell me that before? I thought you knew, she says. Now we know.