Alain Carraze & Helene Oswald, �The Prisoner: A Televisionary Masterpiece �
The Red Hot Punk Rock Goddess, is, I repeat, is all right. Strangely enough, she was out of town, just as I stated that I hoped was what happened. Apparently, my wishes only come true when I put them in the past tense.
That being said, I hope I won a million dollars for no discernable reason.
Geez, I have the excerpt from my book with the big Prisoner reference, and I do it for the book before a review on about The Prisoner. I�m spectacular in my missed opportunities and continuity. But Christ, am I glad The Guitarist finally wrote to tell me, as I was really making myself sick with worry. I don�t have much in the way of bad feelings or premonitions aside from things like thinking I should make a left early, which I ignore and then get a ticket. Gut feelings don�t come naturally, even with tons of Tabasco. I didn�t know how to approach that last crisis. So now we know I�m not good in times of an emotional crisis. Big fucking surprise there.
But knowing is half the battle. Anyhoo, now I can go back to worrying about a million other things closer to home. Like my bank. After the incident with the stolen and then forged checkbook, my account has been flagged to watch out for unusual transactions. Fine. But their definition of unusual is, well, rather unusual for lack of a better word.
See, when the checks were forged, they were perfectly happy to cash checks I hadn�t written, despite the fact that my signature is rather unique. My signature looks like it�s gonna cut you in a back alley. The forger had flowery scrawl, just shy of dotting the �i� in my last name with a heart or a smiley face. Anyway, that helped convince the bank I hadn�t written checks out for things like �Lawyer for Mikey,� as was written in the memo of one of the checks.
But for the last three months, every time I deposited my paycheck the bank decided to put a hold on it.
�Let me get this straight,� I said to the phone bank operator, �you didn�t wonder about seventeen hundred dollars in checks written in two days, but when I try to depost money, you�re suddenly suspicious?�
Their suggestion was to stop using the ATM. If there was going to be a hold placed on my deposit, I should ask to speak to a branch manager. I should then explain the situation, show that it�s an actual paycheck stub, and they should be able to take the hold off.
I went trough all these steps three weeks ago. The check went through. On the next pay period, I went through all the steps again. The teller didn�t mention anything about placing a hold, so I brought it up.
�Oh, I remember you,� the teller said. �I took the hold off.�
So I�m not just a faceless customer in the sea of corporate banking! I don�t know if it�s because I�m a sexy bitch, or because you could still see the marks in the Formica table from my last angry encounter. I�m betting it�s the latter.
So anyway, no holds! Yay! Except then the Fourth of July weekend happens and I find that I have no money because they�ve put a hold on my check, and there�s nobody I can yell at to fix it because it�s a holiday.
The fifth comes around, and I finally discover what the problem is: It seems more than a year back, the owner of the store I work at misplaced his checkbook, and made guesses about the sequential numbers. Typical with my luck, my number comes up at the exact same time that I convince my bank that my paychecks are good, and will be honored.
My boss calls his bank and says the problem is fixed. If my bank will just redeposit the check, it will clear. But my bank won�t take my word for it. After two hours, they suggest to expedite the process, I should have my employer�s bank fax a statement saying the check will be honored. I drive over to my employer�s bank.
�Hi,� I say as I approach the window. �I need you to fax this statement to my bank, so they know a check you issued will be good.�
�We don�t do that,� he says, still grinning.
�Well, you�re gonna do it,� I say.
�They have to call us.�
�They said you have to call them.�
�We won�t do that,� he said, no longer smiling.
I stare at him for a moment. �You know,� I say finally, �this is the equivalent of a junior high school dance, and your bank is lining against this wall, my bank is lining the opposite wall, and the two of you are just staring at each other. All you have to do is take ten steps forward and say, �Hi. Would you like to dance?� And then we can all have fun. But instead, you�re both trying to make me play mediator and play stupid games where I say �my friend likes your friend and wanted to know if you want to, like, go around?�
�And I don�t want to do that,� I continued. �I don�t want to do that because that�s what I�ve been doing for the last three fucking hours.� I punched the countertop with my fingertip to accentuate my point. The branch manager took a step back and quietly told me my behavior was not appropriate.
�You,� I said slowly, �have not seen my inappropriate behavior.�
I get the guy�s direct phone number and drive back to my bank. They tell me the branch manager is on vacation, and they can�t make the call. I talk with the phone bank people again, and they say that since they are a phone bank, they can�t make outgoing calls.
�You sure about that?� I say. �Like, if there was a fire, you couldn�t call for help?�
�Not really,� she answers.
�Can I have your address?�
The next solution offered is for me to drive to another branch of my bank. I do so and explain the situation. The woman is incredibly helpful, and I can hear her talking with the upper departments, saying she will accept responsibility if anything goes awry.
�My god,� I tell her when she says all holds have been lifted. �You�ve been the only person in four and a half hours who has even attempted to be of any help. If you want to give me your card, I�ll call the corporate office and sing your praises.�
�Well, thank you,� she tells me, �but I think you�ve been on the phone with us enough.�
That was a week ago. My check is still on hold and inaccessible. And I don�t have her card to find out what the hell happened.
And of course, having absolutely no money is only one of the things to freak out about.
I leave in just over a month, and I still don�t have a place to live! Gah!
The show with both of my reunited bands is in a month exactly, and IB has practiced twice and only knows four songs � poorly. Yikes!
PTL practiced the other day, and our singer was so drunk, all he could do was some sort of Darby Crash imitation, or sing the same line from the wrong song over and over. Off key and off-time. Eek!
I have way too much crap, and still can�t decide on what I can bear to give up, including this book which was great, but is just another sign of my obsessive collector nature! Yipe!
Despite being perpetually horny, nearly every woman I see recently has looked absolutely gorgeous, making me inordinately, intensely, and perpetually horny! AHHHH!!!
Nobody loves me, and I�m destined to die alone... no wait, I�m better company than most. That�s not so bad.
I�m out of beer! Holy fuckfire!!!
I can�t buy any more beer because MY BANK WON�T GIVE ME MY MONEY!!! IT�S THE ENDTIMES!!! IT�S GAME OVER, MAN! GAME OVER!!!
[gunshot retort]
