Monday, January 27, 2014

Almost bilked and definitely milked ...

Two unrelated things happened today:

1. Whenever I give Chuck money, it is in the form of a cashier's check. I do this for a lot of boring reasons that don't warrant precious internet space. This means that the money is immediately drawn from my account and I never have to think about it ever again. He can cash the check in five minutes or in five weeks. Snooze alarm.

Chuck never cashed a check from December 2012. It's been sitting on top of our refrigerator forevs. I'm all "Well, that's awesome that you can use a big check as a coaster for our penny jar, but baby needs diapers." So today he told me to take the check back to put back into my account.

Hurrah! Free money!

When I got to the bank, it was a big hassle. The teller was a newbie and when he asked his supervisor how to complete the transaction she sniffed mightily and told him the answer was in "The Book." He reluctantly grabbed a black binder and looked up at her. His supervisor was one of those severe people who always sound like she is telling you for the eighth time -- firmly, but she's going to stay calm -- to get your goddamn feet off the couch.

"Do you know where it is in The Book?" he asked.
"Check the table of contents," she said and he began flipping pages.
"That's what The Book is there for," she added, like a monster.

(Insert fiery thoughts about a newbie flipping through The Book while I'm running a quick lunch errand)

This became a three-employee problem and suddenly the Supervisor said to me, "We are going to credit your account *this* time, but never again. These checks expire after 90 days. You need to tell the recipient that it *needs* to be cashed within 90 days. Otherwise it's voided and neither of you have access to the money."

"You mean that YOU get the money if he doesn't cash the check in 90 days?" I said.
"Yes," she said, adding something about how she'd just gotten word from the accounting department.
"It's MY money," I said.
"It's OUR corporate account," she said, getting more terse.
"You don't just get to KEEP my money," I told her.
"It's coming from OUR corporate account," she said.

Here I made my mouth into a straight line, flexed the muscles in my neck and made the universal sign for "Cut." Her policy was stupid and I didn't want to hear another word. I looked for a comment card; She gave me one last bitch face. I considered yanking every cent out of that account, just as quickly realizing that it would have about as much impact as a mosquito sneeze.

I called her a bitch under my breath, just loud enough for the newbie to hear, but he didn't.

My account was credited and I left the bank and three minutes later I got a phone call and I knew it was that awful woman.

"Hi Christa, this is (fill in the blank with the same name as my baby) from the bank."

She sounded different now. Flirty, even.
The policy she had explained was wrong. No, when the check wasn't cashed after 90 days, it was voided because the money had already been rerouted back to my account.

"Haha!" she said. "I knew what I was telling you sounded wrong."
"Haha!" I said. "Yeah. Because what you told me was ridiculous."
"Haha!" she said. "I know! I couldn't believe that was true."
"Haha!" I didn't say. "Really? Because you sure sounded confident that all that rubbish was true. Like, you'd just get to keep hundreds of dollars because Chuck snoozed on the deposit. Haha."

Moral of the story: So many blergs.

2. I lifted up my sweater and tank top, fastened my special bra. I stuck the cone-shaped pieces through the boob holes and attached the filtration process. I plugged in the tubes and flipped the switch and the pump began swooshing.

I opened up Words With Friends to sneak in a few rounds while I milked.
Blah blah blah Scrabble.
My right leg started to feel warm and wet.
Dun-dah! I'd forgotten to attach a milk bag to catch my loot.
Wet milk crotch for hours.

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