Transplanted Life
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
A week of nuisances
So, the bank continues to be a pain in the neck about my ATM card. "You'll get it back tomorrow" became "we can issue you a new one right now" became "we'll express it to you" became "it usually takes a week to ten days". I ask you, are these the actions of a trustworthy financial institution? Hardly. And what are they going to do to make things right? Nothing. Not a thing. I'll be put out because their machine chose an inopportune moment to crash, and they've got no incentive to make things better, because they've still got my money.

I mean, I had to ask Maureen to buy my groceries this week because the supermarket gave me shit about writing a personal check. I'm beginning to wonder what the use of a checking account is, if you can just use the ATM card to withdraw from savings, and that one earns interest - I know, it probably has a minimum balance, but still, checking accounts were created to be convenient, and they're not anymore.

So, that's going on, and then mother nature dumps a couple feet of snow on us. This screws the commuter rail up something fierce - I was able to take my regular train to work yesterday, but apparently sometime afterward they decided it was on a Saturday schedule. So I get to the station and congratulations, it's a half-hour wait. I don't exactly realize this until a #70 bus has come and gone, though. So, cold. Regular schedule today, except for the train I was to ride this morning. That one was delayed twenty-five minutes, with no bus alternative leaving from Porter Square.

Then, tonight, I miss a movie I wanted to see because the clock in my living room was ten minutes slow. I should have just looked at the one on the VCR, because that one has to be right or I miss the end of a show, but silly me.

I get back home and Telly's there, trying to scam some food off us since his roommates ate all his. There are two supermarkets (at least) between him and us, but he knows Maureen likes to cook and he's got a crush on her anyway, sexual orientation be damned. I'm in one of those stomping moods when I get in, holding up a finger to silence the others while I reset every clock and my watch in the apartment to match.

Telly watches me, and laughs, asking if I'm still saying I'm not Michelle, because having the clocks off always drove her nuts. No, I say, it alwas drove me nuts, too. Just part of my not-really-OCD, to go along with my alphebetizing my movies and sticking all the comics from a story arc into one bag and labeling it. I'll bet Michelle didn't even read comic books.

No, he says, that's new. But he never knew anyone who was so anal about syncronizing clocks.

He left about twenty minutes ago, and now I must admit, I'm trying to remember - was I this nuts about little things as Martin, or is it influenced by how this brain is wired?

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