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Unexpected adventures with the rent — 7 Comments

  1. What an awesome friend! Kind of handsome in a fabulous furry freaks kind of way, too! So glad he’s there to lend a reliable helping claw.

  2. Adventures

    First I had to get dressed up like Jerry Garcia to go to the bank so they’d know I’m the person you told them to expect and not an imposter. It’s still too cold here for a tie-dye T-shirt, so I went with pinstripes, fleece vest, chimney sweep hat — yes, I look like Jerry Garcia. (Set out running but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine …)

    So I marched right into the bank just like a grown-up and was told Shannon didn’t tell us about this, excuse me a minute, which I expected, and Shannon apparently wasn’t immediately available but I expected that too, and while I was waiting I opened up my tablet to review the Western Union instructions. I read the email on my new tablet the night before so I didn’t bother to print it out; I just brought my tablet!

    Well, it turns out that Google in its infinite wisdom decided to program the Nexus 7 so it won’t let me access my email without a wireless connection! Don’t even try to tell me it’s not on the tablet — I read it last night; it’s still in the cache, but Google doesn’t want to let me look at it. The bastards!

    (A few hours later I discovered I CAN read email without a wireless connection — IF I put the tablet in airplane mode. Well, why didn’t they tell me that? The bastards!)

    Then the nice bank lady came back and had me sign lots of things and show my id and confirmed I looked like Jerry Garcia (I was born in the desert, raised in a lions’ den) and gave me a money. HA HA! MONEY! MWAHAHAHAHA!

    Fortunately the bank is right next to the library, and the library has Wi-Fi. I couldn’t get a signal inside the bank, but as soon as I went out the back door I had internet access! Quick — how much is a ticket to Venezuela?

    (continued next comment)

  3. Ackkkkkkkk! I can’t believe the price of airfare these days. If I take the money and run Venezuela

    I’ll have nothing left. Crime does not pay!

    So I went to the Western Union office instead, which is the service desk at the supermarket. The

    service desk lady gave me a form to fill out and I asked, How much is the fee?

    How much are you sending?

    Well, I have less than a thousand dollars here already because I need quarters for the horse wash.

    (When you ride a white charger you always have to be taking it to the horse wash, especially in mud

    season.) I want to send $1,000 minus the transfer fee, minus something for the horse wash — let’s say

    $995 minus the transfer fee. So how much is the fee?

    She says, I don’t know. It’s different every time. The only way to find out is to put it into the

    computer, and I have to know how much you want to send to do that. I can’t even guess. Well, it’s

    usually about $5 per 500 … no wait … it’s usually between 15 and 50 … well, it’ll probably be

    less than 50 … um …

    So we try pretending we’re going to send $945 to see what will happen, and it says the fee will be $86.

    Ackkkkkk! $86??? Well, gotta do it; it’s an emergency….

    So she starts counting on her fingers trying to figure what to guess next … she runs out of fingers,

    takes off her shoes so she can count on her toes …

    I said wait, she doesn’t need all of it right away. Let’s send her $900 and I can send the rest later,

    another way. So she tries that and now the fee is only $76. Why does it cost an extra $10 to send an

    extra $45? I wonder if we’re really dealing with a computer algorithm … maybe there’s another lady

    at the other end and she’s counting on her fingers and toes too … I wonder how many toes the lady at

    the other end has…. Well, it’s an emergency. So I send the $900 and I get the receipt with the

    secret number on it. I was planning to text you the secret number but I see the supermarket has Wi-Fi,

    so I sit down on a bench to write an email. Well, you know that supermarket hires moderately retarded

    people to bag groceries (our old friend Paul organized that years ago) and it turns out they sit on

    that bench for their breaks and they keep coming and going and eating peanut butter sandwiches and I

    just felt like I was intruding on their space, so I dashed off a quick email with the secret number and

    promised to tell you about my adventures later.

    So now I’m home, and I can go to the horse wash tomorrow.

    -Cougar :{)

    • Our grocery baggers in that part of New England are much-loved members of the community, partly because they have a clearer sense of boundaries than most people and have no problem in speaking up in clear, sweet ways to call the rest of us on our sloppy behavior, when it’s socially egregious enough. I can imagine that intruding on their break space could well be itchily disconcerting, not knowing if you’re about to be sweetly challenged. Quite apart from the wafting sticky aroma of peanut butter sandwiches.

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