Big, bad storm over the weekend. Brought to mind the REO Speedwagon song
'Riding the Storm Out'. Some of our relatives were without electricity for periods of four hours to two days. Lights stayed on here in central Iowa. I prepared for a power outage, tho. Filled up jugs with water, brought down sleeping bags; I have a gas stove so I don't worry about freezing to death immediately. Prepared to wait it out.
And this is why I have a gas stove. Years ago I bought a new gas stove and my mom asked "Why didn't you get an electric stove?" I told her "When the lights go out I'll still have heat. I don't have a wood stove to fall back on, like you do." She said "Oh." I could see that she was thinking it thru, and difficult as it was to admit, I'd done the right thing.
Growing up with mother took away the panic part of lack of electricity. Circumstances were such that my folks heated with wood stoves for about six years. They had electricity but not gas. We could watch TV, but we didn't have hot water; an abundance of cold water, yes, and indoor plumbing. A person braver than me could take a cold shower.
If the electricity went out it wasn't a big deal. Okay, no TV. We still had heat and a place to cook with the wood stove. Cook a little differently with a wood stove than with an electric stove, but we never were without food. My younger sister and brother always asked for hot cocoa. They thought it was neat that cocoa would get hot on the wood stove but not boil. From an adult perspective I think the folks missed having coffee, but six kids home from school without the distraction of TV would take their minds off those little luxuries.
Sometime after I moved away from home, Mom acquired some oil lamps. She was old enough to know how to use them for more than decor. During a time without electricity the oil lamps enabled my youngest sister and brother to do their homework for school. That didn't go over so well with one of my sister's teachers.
Teacher was telling the class that if they didn't get the homework done she understood. Of course you couldn't do homework with the electricity out. Sister said "I have my homework done." Teacher said "Did you do your homework in study hall?" Sister told teacher she had done her homework at home. "Without electricity for lights?" teacher queried. Sister said "My mom lit the oil lamps so that we could see to do our homework." Teacher asked "But weren't you cold without the furnace running?" Sister replied "No, we have a wood stove."
By then teacher was glowering, "I suppose your mother cooked on the wood stove, too?" Sister said "Well, mom heated up some canned soup and we made hot cocoa on the wood stove." Teacher gave the rest of the class an extra day for the assignment in spite of my sister's example of fortitude.
I do need to get some oil lamps and have Mom show me how to use them.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Box Elder Bugs
I guess it's not on a par with swarms of locusts...yet. This third week of February the weather has warmed up by about 40 degrees. The box-elder bugs have warmed up, too. I don't usually pay much attention to box-elder bugs, to tell you the truth, but the past couple of days they've been getting up close and personal. One, in particular has developed an inter-species ankle fetish.
MySpouse is being less than sensitive about this issue. Having already plucked a box-elder bug from each ankle, when I saw one trotting across my thigh I screamed, "Get it off me!! They want me, they won't leave me alone! Aaauuughghh!" He removed the box-elder bug from my pants leg and asked "And what, madam, should I do with this bug?"
Madam, alias me, replied "Take the nasty thing outdoors. Madam has had quite enough of being mauled this evening."
Last time your ankle tickled what was going on? Was it your cat, your husband's lips, or poison ivy causing that sensation? I don't even want to think about some icky bug humping my leg, it's bad enough when dogs do that... and I like dogs.
MySpouse is being less than sensitive about this issue. Having already plucked a box-elder bug from each ankle, when I saw one trotting across my thigh I screamed, "Get it off me!! They want me, they won't leave me alone! Aaauuughghh!" He removed the box-elder bug from my pants leg and asked "And what, madam, should I do with this bug?"
Madam, alias me, replied "Take the nasty thing outdoors. Madam has had quite enough of being mauled this evening."
Last time your ankle tickled what was going on? Was it your cat, your husband's lips, or poison ivy causing that sensation? I don't even want to think about some icky bug humping my leg, it's bad enough when dogs do that... and I like dogs.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Playing Scrabble
Well, that was kind of an up-and-down experience. I won three games of Scrabble in a row. I'm pleased that my rating went up, but disappointed at the lack of suspense generated by my opponents. People who make three-letter boxes deserve to have their
gonads shrivel up and rot.
Internet Scrabble Club , ISC , is my Scrabble site of choice. ISC provides free games to registered members; pay for a membership if you want more privileges.
Games are tournament-style, one-on-one. The ISC server is in Romania, so lag can be a problem for some players; adjusting the length of time for a game should compensate for lag.
The Scrabble game you play can be in English, French, Romanian, Italian, or Dutch.
Of course it's true that I play "baby Scrabble". Given a choice of challenge options at the ISC site I choose the option where the computer validates all the words played. That option cuts down on the number of opponents who will accuse you of cheating. The computer will also let
you "try out" words; if you're indulging in fantasy words the computer will let you know
which fantasy is acceptable.
Miggle, snooled, agnize, and zarf are acceptable...believe it or not.
Most of my opponents would be disappointed if they could see me on a webcam. If I'm taking a long time on a turn it's probably becuz I'm letting dogs in/out, getting food out of the microwave, or opening a new bag of Ruffles. I actually play my best when I'm slightly distracted. MySpouse thinks it's hilarious; that while I'm shoving potato chips into my mouth I'm putting 'sequoia' on the board and getting 93 points for it.
When opponents accuse me of cheating I tell them the truth, the very painful truth: You do not have my complete attention. I'm eating, I'm crocheting, I'm scratching my dog's belly. I do not have a dictionary, I do not have a word list, I do not have an anagram program running. One oppo who persisted in accusing me of cheating got both barrels; they pissed me off and I told them 'I don't need helps to beat you.'
And there are the whiners: That's not a real word. How real does it have to be?
A real word here in Iowa is 'owly'. Usually meaning a tired child, cuz kids get big owl-eyes when they're tired; or someone so tired that they're getting grumpy. MySpouse is a good example of 'owly' quite often. Talking to people outside of Iowa tells me that 'owly' is a regional usage, common here, never heard elsewhere. Also not accepted by the Scrabble computer, which disappoints me.
Whiners demand that you play only 'real' words: bat, cat, mat, tax. Instead of bate, cation, matte, or taxa... Sometimes I'm inclined to demonstrate how silly that demand is; I play small, simple, 'real' words with real strategy and win.
gonads shrivel up and rot.
Internet Scrabble Club , ISC , is my Scrabble site of choice. ISC provides free games to registered members; pay for a membership if you want more privileges.
Games are tournament-style, one-on-one. The ISC server is in Romania, so lag can be a problem for some players; adjusting the length of time for a game should compensate for lag.
The Scrabble game you play can be in English, French, Romanian, Italian, or Dutch.
Of course it's true that I play "baby Scrabble". Given a choice of challenge options at the ISC site I choose the option where the computer validates all the words played. That option cuts down on the number of opponents who will accuse you of cheating. The computer will also let
you "try out" words; if you're indulging in fantasy words the computer will let you know
which fantasy is acceptable.
Miggle, snooled, agnize, and zarf are acceptable...believe it or not.
Most of my opponents would be disappointed if they could see me on a webcam. If I'm taking a long time on a turn it's probably becuz I'm letting dogs in/out, getting food out of the microwave, or opening a new bag of Ruffles. I actually play my best when I'm slightly distracted. MySpouse thinks it's hilarious; that while I'm shoving potato chips into my mouth I'm putting 'sequoia' on the board and getting 93 points for it.
When opponents accuse me of cheating I tell them the truth, the very painful truth: You do not have my complete attention. I'm eating, I'm crocheting, I'm scratching my dog's belly. I do not have a dictionary, I do not have a word list, I do not have an anagram program running. One oppo who persisted in accusing me of cheating got both barrels; they pissed me off and I told them 'I don't need helps to beat you.'
And there are the whiners: That's not a real word. How real does it have to be?
A real word here in Iowa is 'owly'. Usually meaning a tired child, cuz kids get big owl-eyes when they're tired; or someone so tired that they're getting grumpy. MySpouse is a good example of 'owly' quite often. Talking to people outside of Iowa tells me that 'owly' is a regional usage, common here, never heard elsewhere. Also not accepted by the Scrabble computer, which disappoints me.
Whiners demand that you play only 'real' words: bat, cat, mat, tax. Instead of bate, cation, matte, or taxa... Sometimes I'm inclined to demonstrate how silly that demand is; I play small, simple, 'real' words with real strategy and win.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Unemployed ...with Dogs
I have been unemployed for about two months. My choice to be unemployed; bad vibes at the place I was working and it didn't look like improving for awhile. Nepotism coupled with gender discrimination.....hmmm.....that sounds even nastier. At one point the FamilyMember said to me "I have so much respect for your husband that I won't use profanity to his wife."
Sounds good on the surface. But what's the point of respecting my husband? My husband isn't the person putting up with the crap that's being dished out at this place. FamilyMember doesn't even know my husband. FamilyMember would have a lot less respect for my husband if he knew that my husband thinks he's a dumbshit. Just cuz MySpouse has testosterone doesn't make the two of them best buddies.
Best buddies they never will be. FamilyMember has a long way to go to measure up to hubby's standards. MySpouse grew up with five sisters. Growing up with all those girls he got to see and hear the results of gender discrimination and sexual harassment. There are things he will never do or say to a female. I sneer at Politically Correct most of the time; a euphemism is a euphemism. But PC beats the hell out of idiocy.
Sexual harassment and gender discrimination are topics on which to endlessly rant. I won't bore anyone with that today.
Here's the 'dogs' part of the title. Okay, not an elegant segue, but it got us here.
I'm unemployed, not doing paycheck-bearing labor. Labor without a paycheck, yes, plenty of that. I used to work at a place that had lay-offs fairly frequently and I liked that. Except that I'd be so busy when I was laid off that it was a relief to go back to 'work'. This time is a bit like that.
I am cleaning and de-cluttering my poor neglected house. In between cleaning, I function as a doggie door-opener. About 24 times in ten hours. They go outside for periods of two minutes to 15 minutes. 'They' are Lab-mix littermates, a female and male, 3 years old. Lilac, the female, and Jackson, the male. 'They' are our surrogate children.
I did learn something about parenting from my human children: It's best to have offspring who will never want to drive your car.
Lilac and Jackson want to go in and out a lot (!!!). Actually, I'm okay with this. It's freakin' cold here. The kind of cold that makes utility company shareholders dance with glee. 'They' live at the same temperature that we humans do: 70 degrees when we're up and about, 60 degrees at night so that I don't have hot flashes/night sweats. It takes conditioning to spend more than a few minutes outdoors. I don't begrudge them their ins and outs.
When I really want to get something done I tell them nope, got to work. Stay in for a bit, there's nothing to bark at anyway. The neighbor to the north has taken his dogs back inside and the neighbors to the south have gone to work. The sanitation trucks have come and gone, so no, nothing to bark about.
Time for a nap.
Sounds good on the surface. But what's the point of respecting my husband? My husband isn't the person putting up with the crap that's being dished out at this place. FamilyMember doesn't even know my husband. FamilyMember would have a lot less respect for my husband if he knew that my husband thinks he's a dumbshit. Just cuz MySpouse has testosterone doesn't make the two of them best buddies.
Best buddies they never will be. FamilyMember has a long way to go to measure up to hubby's standards. MySpouse grew up with five sisters. Growing up with all those girls he got to see and hear the results of gender discrimination and sexual harassment. There are things he will never do or say to a female. I sneer at Politically Correct most of the time; a euphemism is a euphemism. But PC beats the hell out of idiocy.
Sexual harassment and gender discrimination are topics on which to endlessly rant. I won't bore anyone with that today.
Here's the 'dogs' part of the title. Okay, not an elegant segue, but it got us here.
I'm unemployed, not doing paycheck-bearing labor. Labor without a paycheck, yes, plenty of that. I used to work at a place that had lay-offs fairly frequently and I liked that. Except that I'd be so busy when I was laid off that it was a relief to go back to 'work'. This time is a bit like that.
I am cleaning and de-cluttering my poor neglected house. In between cleaning, I function as a doggie door-opener. About 24 times in ten hours. They go outside for periods of two minutes to 15 minutes. 'They' are Lab-mix littermates, a female and male, 3 years old. Lilac, the female, and Jackson, the male. 'They' are our surrogate children.
I did learn something about parenting from my human children: It's best to have offspring who will never want to drive your car.
Lilac and Jackson want to go in and out a lot (!!!). Actually, I'm okay with this. It's freakin' cold here. The kind of cold that makes utility company shareholders dance with glee. 'They' live at the same temperature that we humans do: 70 degrees when we're up and about, 60 degrees at night so that I don't have hot flashes/night sweats. It takes conditioning to spend more than a few minutes outdoors. I don't begrudge them their ins and outs.
When I really want to get something done I tell them nope, got to work. Stay in for a bit, there's nothing to bark at anyway. The neighbor to the north has taken his dogs back inside and the neighbors to the south have gone to work. The sanitation trucks have come and gone, so no, nothing to bark about.
Time for a nap.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Brain Tumor in Lions Club
Here's a life situation that's a real toughy: A guy who had been making your life miserable is diagnosed with a brain tumor.
Guy has surgery to remove the tumor. Guy isn't the same after the surgery (and who would be?). Guy is no longer capable of being a jerk.
I don't know if it's sad or funny. As a writer I recognize irony at it's best. This man that I'd been hoping would step in front of a tour bus takes a hit of a different sort. Guilt and relief are intermingled, but being raised up a good girl, guilt prevails. My mother would be proud of me.
Guy is known to me as a member of our local Lions Club. Like AA meetings in this county seat town, Lions Club here is top-heavy with men. And like AA, most of them are nice men. But ya know by now there's one in every group; some jerk of a man or Type-A woman who runs roughshod over all others.
Talking to other Lions Club members and all they could say was "Oh, Guy is like that."
Hey, Guy is a fucking jerk, okay? Can't one of you stand up to him and say "Behave yourself." ? Do I have to call my mother?
I know they're hard up for members, but I'd take a chance on Guy leaving the club. Besides, he's known as a jerk to other people in this small community. Maybe having him out of Lions Club would be an incentive for others to join.
Others, preferably under 40. Folks, don't wait until you're 60-something to join a local service club. Do it when you're younger so someone can actually work at the fund-raisers.
This Lions Club is full of men who are old enough to be my father...and in one case, my grandfather. They've quit doing some of the fund-raising activities becuz they're too physically feeble to do those things. But the feebs are the majority; while they cannot do the work of some of the past fundraisers, they will not try anything new.
Perhaps the feebs don't need to do any fund-raising. Given the advanced age of most of the members, we could just wait for them to die and leave Lions Club a bequest in their wills.
That should work for about 8 years.
With Guy-the-jerk out of the running, maybe I'll stick around to see.
Guy has surgery to remove the tumor. Guy isn't the same after the surgery (and who would be?). Guy is no longer capable of being a jerk.
I don't know if it's sad or funny. As a writer I recognize irony at it's best. This man that I'd been hoping would step in front of a tour bus takes a hit of a different sort. Guilt and relief are intermingled, but being raised up a good girl, guilt prevails. My mother would be proud of me.
Guy is known to me as a member of our local Lions Club. Like AA meetings in this county seat town, Lions Club here is top-heavy with men. And like AA, most of them are nice men. But ya know by now there's one in every group; some jerk of a man or Type-A woman who runs roughshod over all others.
Talking to other Lions Club members and all they could say was "Oh, Guy is like that."
Hey, Guy is a fucking jerk, okay? Can't one of you stand up to him and say "Behave yourself." ? Do I have to call my mother?
I know they're hard up for members, but I'd take a chance on Guy leaving the club. Besides, he's known as a jerk to other people in this small community. Maybe having him out of Lions Club would be an incentive for others to join.
Others, preferably under 40. Folks, don't wait until you're 60-something to join a local service club. Do it when you're younger so someone can actually work at the fund-raisers.
This Lions Club is full of men who are old enough to be my father...and in one case, my grandfather. They've quit doing some of the fund-raising activities becuz they're too physically feeble to do those things. But the feebs are the majority; while they cannot do the work of some of the past fundraisers, they will not try anything new.
Perhaps the feebs don't need to do any fund-raising. Given the advanced age of most of the members, we could just wait for them to die and leave Lions Club a bequest in their wills.
That should work for about 8 years.
With Guy-the-jerk out of the running, maybe I'll stick around to see.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Job Hunting Sucks
Job hunting. I hate it. No better day to do it than Monday, I guess. A job application and a trip to the past, all in one outing.
I haven't forgotten my past, but there are parts I don't want to repeat. On the job application it asks: Have you ever been arrested?
My answer: How many times? And then specific crimes and dates were wanted; that's where I turned into squirmin' vermin. I think the total number of arrests from 1989-1993 was 5 or 6. Mostly alcohol-related. I never wanted to go thru the torture of reading my file at the Clerk of Court's office to know exactly.
Two arrests within three months in 1993 brought me to the turning point. A DUI, that is, drunk driving, colloquially; and two months later, public intoxication. I looked at myself in the mirror after the public intox arrest and asked: "Is this who you are? Is this the person you want to be?"
No. That is not who I was or wanted to be.
Drunk, I was violent and destructive, things that I abhorred when I was sober. Mouthy as I am, add alcohol... intellect coupled with anger and alcohol, I was more than abusive verbally.
I made the decision the day I looked in the mirror. I was just so tired of fighting life; it took too much energy to be angry all the time. When I got arrested, it took too much money to pay the fines, fees, lawyers, and court costs. Money that was needed to support my children and family.
I couldn't continue to use alcohol, but I couldn't imagine living without it.
At the time of the two arrests in 1993 I was on probation. Anyone familiar with crime/law knows that crimes committed while a person is on probation are treated more harshly. The maximum penalties are used becuz that person is obviously unrepentant and fucking stupid.
I had the good fortune to be involved with an entity called Center for Creative Justice here in Story County, Iowa. Good fortune, also, to have a woman named Bobbie Carlson actually give a shit about me. She was more of a counselor to me than a functionary of law enforcement. That was what I needed, apparently. Now, 14 years later, I am one of her success stories.
I went to substance abuse treatment. I hated it. And I lied to them. Then I would go to Bobbie Carlson and tell her the truth. As long as there was truth, it could be done. One of the reasons I stay sober is becuz I never want to go to treatment again.
I got what I could out of it. I did learn some stuff about substance abuse and alcoholism that I probably wouldn't have learned anywhere else. Went to my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting with other clients of the treatment program and did not participate.
Alcoholics Anonymous scares a lot of people with its talk of God. Some people get around that by having a Higher Power. If you are not comfortable with those concepts, I say, stick up for yourself. Be honest, becuz AA stresses personal honesty, and deal with it when you're ready. Go to meetings, tho, and get what you can from them. Maybe you'll find a God, maybe you won't; but there are solutions to be had for many of the problems of alcoholism and addiction. I wasn't the first alcoholic to attend AA meetings, I'm sure I won't be the last. Nobody goes to AA becuz they want to...
Some people are able to quit using alcohol/drugs all on their own. Never go to treatment, never go to Alcoholics Anonymous. Perhaps those people have a bit more strength than I do. Kudos to those who succeed at quitting on their own; I wish I could have been one of them. But where I'm at isn't so bad.
Except for the job hunting.
I haven't forgotten my past, but there are parts I don't want to repeat. On the job application it asks: Have you ever been arrested?
My answer: How many times? And then specific crimes and dates were wanted; that's where I turned into squirmin' vermin. I think the total number of arrests from 1989-1993 was 5 or 6. Mostly alcohol-related. I never wanted to go thru the torture of reading my file at the Clerk of Court's office to know exactly.
Two arrests within three months in 1993 brought me to the turning point. A DUI, that is, drunk driving, colloquially; and two months later, public intoxication. I looked at myself in the mirror after the public intox arrest and asked: "Is this who you are? Is this the person you want to be?"
No. That is not who I was or wanted to be.
Drunk, I was violent and destructive, things that I abhorred when I was sober. Mouthy as I am, add alcohol... intellect coupled with anger and alcohol, I was more than abusive verbally.
I made the decision the day I looked in the mirror. I was just so tired of fighting life; it took too much energy to be angry all the time. When I got arrested, it took too much money to pay the fines, fees, lawyers, and court costs. Money that was needed to support my children and family.
I couldn't continue to use alcohol, but I couldn't imagine living without it.
At the time of the two arrests in 1993 I was on probation. Anyone familiar with crime/law knows that crimes committed while a person is on probation are treated more harshly. The maximum penalties are used becuz that person is obviously unrepentant and fucking stupid.
I had the good fortune to be involved with an entity called Center for Creative Justice here in Story County, Iowa. Good fortune, also, to have a woman named Bobbie Carlson actually give a shit about me. She was more of a counselor to me than a functionary of law enforcement. That was what I needed, apparently. Now, 14 years later, I am one of her success stories.
I went to substance abuse treatment. I hated it. And I lied to them. Then I would go to Bobbie Carlson and tell her the truth. As long as there was truth, it could be done. One of the reasons I stay sober is becuz I never want to go to treatment again.
I got what I could out of it. I did learn some stuff about substance abuse and alcoholism that I probably wouldn't have learned anywhere else. Went to my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting with other clients of the treatment program and did not participate.
Alcoholics Anonymous scares a lot of people with its talk of God. Some people get around that by having a Higher Power. If you are not comfortable with those concepts, I say, stick up for yourself. Be honest, becuz AA stresses personal honesty, and deal with it when you're ready. Go to meetings, tho, and get what you can from them. Maybe you'll find a God, maybe you won't; but there are solutions to be had for many of the problems of alcoholism and addiction. I wasn't the first alcoholic to attend AA meetings, I'm sure I won't be the last. Nobody goes to AA becuz they want to...
Some people are able to quit using alcohol/drugs all on their own. Never go to treatment, never go to Alcoholics Anonymous. Perhaps those people have a bit more strength than I do. Kudos to those who succeed at quitting on their own; I wish I could have been one of them. But where I'm at isn't so bad.
Except for the job hunting.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Banks and Beer
Totally new to this blog-thing, but a chance to write, and be opinionated, cannot be
passed up.I simply couldn't stand to see MySpouse have a blog and be read; and me not.
Besides, I can actually spell.
One of my favorite things to do is play "Stump the Spellchecker". I always think of the letter that MySpouse got from his bank..."at your earliest connivance...". Sue the dumb shits, that's character assassination. Pay your employees more so that you can get some smarter ones. Sorry, folks, but a bank employee who doesn't know the difference between 'connivance' and 'convenience' is kind of frightening to me.
I live in central Iowa, US. My question for readers : Are banks in your area coming up like mushrooms in May? Is it just a local phenomenon or a terrifying trend throughout the US?
Curious, I am. Is this like the dot.com bubble? Going to come crashing down around our cash cards? And where in the world are they getting the money to do all this building?
Gentle Reader, I'll credit you with some intelligence.
I'm old enough to remember when banks were grateful to have your money; no fees for most services. Now though they'll charge $7.00/month for your grandchild's passbook savings account. So grandparents need to pony up that minimum balance of $100.00.
You can't just start it out with the $4.79 in coins from the top of MySpouse's dresser.
Sigh.
This activity of banks is giving the word 'fee' a new meaning. While the word 'fritter' has a rather light-hearted connotation, to 'fee away your money' has a more leaden tone.
Enough rant about that. One of the banks here in town was a wonderful place 20 years ago.
This bank used to have bake sales at least once a month. Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, PMS Bitches of America... any local cause could set up in their lobby and sell cookies and fudge. And 20 years ago I could eat banana bread and drink Pabst Blue Ribbon with no thought of incongruity...or vomiting. Ah, youth...
The moral of that reminiscence is that working nights makes you crazy. In that universe the bar opened for business before the bank did. And folks, this is small town Iowa; a county seat town with a population of just under 10,000. I'm not talking big city here.
I'd have time to drink a beer or two on Friday morning before I could cash my paycheck. By the time I got to the bank to cash my check I was hungry; kinda munchy type hunger. Doughnuts, Fritos, candy, baked goods, anything as long as it wasn't wholesome. I'm sure that I never entertained the thought of eating green beans along with my beer.
If there wasn't a bake sale at the bank I'd stop into the Ben Franklin store on the way back to the bar and buy candy - usually strawberry Tangy Taffy. Really, it tasted pretty good with PBR. Plus, it looked really nasty if I laid it over top of my beer glass and it wilted down the sides. Frightened away many a man who might have had a proposition for me.
Of course, now I'm mature. Too close to 50 to indulge in such silliness. Mature, yes, but not much troubled by sanity.
passed up.I simply couldn't stand to see MySpouse have a blog and be read; and me not.
Besides, I can actually spell.
One of my favorite things to do is play "Stump the Spellchecker". I always think of the letter that MySpouse got from his bank..."at your earliest connivance...". Sue the dumb shits, that's character assassination. Pay your employees more so that you can get some smarter ones. Sorry, folks, but a bank employee who doesn't know the difference between 'connivance' and 'convenience' is kind of frightening to me.
I live in central Iowa, US. My question for readers : Are banks in your area coming up like mushrooms in May? Is it just a local phenomenon or a terrifying trend throughout the US?
Curious, I am. Is this like the dot.com bubble? Going to come crashing down around our cash cards? And where in the world are they getting the money to do all this building?
Gentle Reader, I'll credit you with some intelligence.
I'm old enough to remember when banks were grateful to have your money; no fees for most services. Now though they'll charge $7.00/month for your grandchild's passbook savings account. So grandparents need to pony up that minimum balance of $100.00.
You can't just start it out with the $4.79 in coins from the top of MySpouse's dresser.
Sigh.
This activity of banks is giving the word 'fee' a new meaning. While the word 'fritter' has a rather light-hearted connotation, to 'fee away your money' has a more leaden tone.
Enough rant about that. One of the banks here in town was a wonderful place 20 years ago.
This bank used to have bake sales at least once a month. Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, PMS Bitches of America... any local cause could set up in their lobby and sell cookies and fudge. And 20 years ago I could eat banana bread and drink Pabst Blue Ribbon with no thought of incongruity...or vomiting. Ah, youth...
The moral of that reminiscence is that working nights makes you crazy. In that universe the bar opened for business before the bank did. And folks, this is small town Iowa; a county seat town with a population of just under 10,000. I'm not talking big city here.
I'd have time to drink a beer or two on Friday morning before I could cash my paycheck. By the time I got to the bank to cash my check I was hungry; kinda munchy type hunger. Doughnuts, Fritos, candy, baked goods, anything as long as it wasn't wholesome. I'm sure that I never entertained the thought of eating green beans along with my beer.
If there wasn't a bake sale at the bank I'd stop into the Ben Franklin store on the way back to the bar and buy candy - usually strawberry Tangy Taffy. Really, it tasted pretty good with PBR. Plus, it looked really nasty if I laid it over top of my beer glass and it wilted down the sides. Frightened away many a man who might have had a proposition for me.
Of course, now I'm mature. Too close to 50 to indulge in such silliness. Mature, yes, but not much troubled by sanity.
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