It's Not Easy Being This Charming

Little things mean a lot.

With every little step I take, I'm hoping it is moving me forward to being far away, someday.

That's why I ended up going to a different bank yesterday and opening up a new account. STBX and I banked at a local bank which wouldn't be so good someday, when I move.

I like my present bank. I have never felt like they were trying to sell me on anything and for some strange reason, they actually make me feel like they care.

Yeah, I know. Dillusion can be a comforting thing at times.

But my daughter had opened up her first checking account at this new bank because it will be portable across the country so I figured that was a pretty good idea.

Let's just say, I wasn't at my perkiest yesterday. And my bullshit detector was on high alert.

Did you know that because my employer banks at this bank, I am able to receive a "gold account"? Why, I feel so special! And a gold account comes with a whole host of things that I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT.

But it's free! It's free! Don't I want to be able to get a great rate on a new mortgage and an endless line of credit??? It's free! We'll just be making automatic changes to your checking account and moving money to savings every month and no, you can't cancel it, but you can go in on the day that we make the transfer and transfer the money back. Now, doesn't that sound like a great feature? And if you forget to transfer the money back, you'll start bouncing checks! Hooray!

Here is twenty five yards of rope, place it around your neck and jump off that cliff over there. When you get to the end, stop...

Halfway through her speal, I stopped her and asked if there wasn't a basic checking account that was free.

She looked like I had crapped on Christmas.

"But all of these features are free..."

"Yeah, it's free for me to eat out of the garbage in front of the DTA but it doesn't mean that I want to. Since I'm the customer, it should be what I WANT, not what you want to SELL me."

She then pulled out the "basic" checking speal and started signing me up for it. Halfway through, she tells me that I will have overdraft protection in the form of a credit card which she is signing me up for.

"I don't want a fuckin' credit card! I want a straight forward checking account."

I'm finding that my use of explitives is creeping into my everyday frustration and I have stopped apologizing for it. I am so tired of people trying to SELL me stuff.

I should have told her that the only way her bank would be making money off me is on overdraft fees so really, she isn't doing herself any favors by signing me up for a line of credit.

"Well, I'm already halfway through and I can't cancel it now. You'll just have to cancel it when you get the card."

It was at this point that I very nearly walked out. I'm not coming to your bank to be given homework. I want to deposit money and then eventualy, use it. I don't want you to automatically do anything to my account. I WANT YOU TO KEEP YOUR DAMN HANDS OUT OF MY BUSINESS. JUST LET ME BE!

Since you are trapped, while waiting in line, by watching a large screen television which had coverage of Michael Jackson going (cuz NOTHING ELSE IS HAPPENING IN THE WORLD), she kept trying to make small talk. She was marveling at how long they were taking to get him buried "and I just don't see how they can preserve a body that long".

Ever hear of Lenin?

Trust me, there is no part of that man that could qualify as being normal. He's looked like a walking corpse for years. I'm sure he's going to look exactly the same five years after being six feet under.

I felt like such an exhausted bitch at that point that I didn't even care how I sounded. I very nearly grabbed onto the third rail of his penchant for sleeping with young boys but we finally got up to the window so I let it be.

Yeah. I have money in an account that I can use anywhere I might want to go.

Let's never speak of this again.

Allow Me To Introduce Myself

Dear Small Town Yarn Store Owner:

While it's true that we never met before, allow me to introduce myself...

I am a customer.

I am a customer that was passing through your little berg on the way to a fun filled weekend surrounded by sci-fi geeks, nerds, cross dressing obese men with huge moobs, and various and sundry disturbed individuals.

So, you might understand my need for knitting.

And, as I told you upon entering your little shop, I was a traveller who had left her knitting at home by mistake.

Since your shop was so small and since you had parked your chair directly in the middle of it, I was immediately and exclusively under your beady eyed gaze the second I came in.

And this is really where my problem with you started.

I understand the need to make sure people don't shoplift, but that really wasn't the issue now, was it? The fact that you sat there and watched me pick up every single skein of yarn and began your running commentary that WOULD NOT SHUT UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I very nearly stabbed myself in both ears simultaneously with 00 needles just to rupture my eardrums and put me out of my aural misery.

Learn some customer skills for Pete's sake! How about some pointers???

#1 ASK where we're from instead of assuming we were from a million miles away. By talking about our "visit to the great state of Minnesota" like it was some parting of the Red Sea, it was a little annoying. That's why I gave you my "shut the fuck up look" and said "Yeah, I know the area, I'm from Duluth."

You really should have got a clue at that point.

#2 ASK how long I've been knitting! Don't assume I've been knitting for two weeks and start you're "oh isn't knitting a great hobby!" speal. Remember how I paused a second and started to open my mouth but then thought for a second and shut up? I was about to say "You know what else is a great hobby? Masturbation!"

#3 I told you I was going to get enough yarn for a sweater. Had you known that I have been knitting for over 30 years, (see #2), you could have asked something intelligent like "Do you have a pattern in mind? I keep my sweater patterns over here..." When I say that I'm going to knit a sweater and I reach for a circular needle and you start trying to sell me on the "magic loop technique" which people use for SOCKS, it makes me think that you are NOT LISTENING TO ME. You told me how "everyone is doing the magic loop technique" and by that time, you were really starting to piss me off. Hence the reason I told you "Well, obviously not EVERYONE is doing it because I am not. I have a tendency not to knit like a lemming."

You know what it means when a customer uses that tone of voice? It means that they are getting ready to dump your sorry ass and leave.

#4 As I stood there with my skeins of yarn, doing the math in regards to how many skeins I would need for the pattern that I would create as I was knitting the sweater, you kept breaking in and telling me I would need "at least two more skeins".

Did you not hear me adding the numbers up out loud? Did you not see me glare at you and ignore you as I kept adding it up?

Did you even ask what kind of a sweater I was knitting?

Did you even take into consideration that I am approximately 1/3 your size and would thus need far LESS yarn than you were suggesting?

No, you just kept yammering on and on.

#5 Asking me if I "had ever heard of mohair" was just a little ridiculous. Yes, I've heard of mohair. Have you ever heard of oxygen???

Guess what? I DON'T LIKE MOHAIR!!! (Best said in the "I don't want Spam!" Monty Python voice.)

And when I pulled out my credit card and you looked at me and said "I don't take credit cards," I was about two seconds away from beating you with a sack of doorknobs.

"But you can go down the street to the bank and get money..." you told me.

"Yeah. I could. But it would make me far happier just to say 'screw this'." I smiled.

Just for the record? There's a reason why you're shop is void of customers.

Beam me up Scotty. And get me some fucking yarn NOW!




















The next time I visit your shop? I'm bringing my henchmen.

I Need A Personal Assistant

Better living through chemistry has kicked in over the past three days but I'm still "Princess Put Your Foot In It".

I used to work retail and I know what a suck assed job it can be but the ability to read a person and realize that "this is a person that just wants to pay for their merchandise and get the hell out", is a gift from the gods.

I went to the mall yesterday. Now, if you know ANYTHING about me, you will realize that this statement, in and of itself, is HILARIOUS. I would sooner be water-boarded but at the end of a session of "unconventional negotiation techniques", I doubt that they hand you a pair of black slacks.

Two freakin' hours. TWO HOURS AT THE MILLER HILL MALL! I kept crossing paths with tweens and queens over and over again and at the end of the day I had an undeniable urge to watch High School Musical.

I am able to find jeans that fit me in resale shops but slacks are a different story. I have three pairs of black slacks that I got, all for under $3.00 each, and every last one of them is now too big. Trust me on this, when you're running down the corridors at the courthouse, fantasizing about murder but powerless to do anything but scream, the LAST thing that you want running through your mind is "SHIT! My pants are falling down!"

And should I ever be in a position where I am gang tackled by security guards and wrestled to the ground, I would prefer the security cameras not get a glimpse of my ass crack.

After all, a girl has standards.

Thus, I was looking for a pair of pants and went into every single shop, even the ones that card you at the door and turn you away for being over 18. (Once I hit 35, I had a reverse fake ID made).

Finally I found a pair of pants that fit me. And I will state here and now that the sales girl was FABULOUS! She did everything right. She greeted me at the door, she told me that she would help me find anything. She directed me to the changing rooms. Let it be said that it was the best service I have had by someone under the age of 21 in forever.

But there comes a point at check out that I just want to pay and leave. I don't want to be coerced into a credit card. After I say "No, thank you," three times, you have officially worn me down. Congratulations.

So when I was posed with the question "So, where are you wearing these cute pants to?" I hesitated and just said "oh, just around."

"Like, to work...around? Or are you doing to a wedding? Someplace fun??? Come on! It has to be someplace fun, right?"

"I'm wearing them to court," I told her. "But don't worry, I'm not the one being incarcerated. If I were, I sure as heck wouldn't pay this much for a pair of pants. That's what Wal-Mart's for."

"Wow," she handed me my bag. "Bummer."

And that is why I need a personal assistant.

Or at least someone to follow me around with duct tape. Someone that knows me and will rip off a strip of duct tape and wordlessly hand it over when I am going to say something unfortunate. I could have easily lied and told her I had a wedding to go to but then I would have stood there and began to imagine just what kind of a wedding and I would have been thinking up colors for the bridesmaids dresses and the flavor of the cake and people would have been lining up behind me to pay as I came to the sudden realization that it shouldn't be JUST a wedding, it should be a gay wedding held on the front lawn of the local holy roller church. Sort of a "drive by" matrimonial protest. By the time I would have gotten to where I could purchase two men or two women for the top of the cake, 911 would have been called because I would have a vacant look in my eyes and a considerable string of drool coming out of my mouth. It has been shown that people with overactive imaginations can indeed induce seizures when overstimulated. All that disco dancing back in the 70's? Not dancing...just seizures.

Thankfully, the woman at the Target pharmacy was as game for a good laugh as I was when I went to pick up my stronger anxiety meds. She asked if I wanted to put them on auto-refill and I told her that it was unnecessary, I was only going to be crazy until the end of June. I then promised her that if I had any psychotic breakdowns, I would shop at Walgreens at the Plaza.

"Because I don't think I would be the first to do that and I don't have the energy to be a trailblazer."

She gave me a brilliant smile and said "And you can't imagine how much we appreciate that!"



So far, interviews for a personal assistant have been a little rocky. This one seems to think he should have editorial powers as well.

Can't Win. Don't Try.

It was probably about three weeks ago (too lazy to go back and read the posts and find out) when the snark princess from the victim's reparation fund told me, as I sobbed into my end of the phone, that it didn't matter what the hell problems I had, she needed a copy of the police report in order to proceed with releasing the funds for my daughter and I to see mental health professionals. I was not allowed to make an appointment until I got their go ahead.

So I called people.

And I called more people.

And finally, the police report appeared where it needed to appear.

I then received a letter that said we had been approved. I was now allowed to go ahead and make our appointments.

I immediately made our appointments and we saw the intake person on Friday.

Today, I got a letter in the mail saying we had been denied because we didn't go to our appointment where we said we were going AND our insurance would cover it.

Hmmmm. Kinda funny since we did go to our appointment and we don't have insurance.

I don't have the energy to scream anymore.

I called and left a message with princess snark. This woman deals with crime victims on a daily basis and is such a bitch that I'm amazed her phone message doesn't say "Please just shoot yourself and make my job easier."

I can only hope that it is her incompetence that screwed this process up. I can only hope that we really haven't been denied and all of this will get ironed out.

Right now though, I don't even know if I have the energy to hope.

I am so very tired.