I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps I thought the pudgy little top hat-wearing New Year’s baby would sprinkle his magic dust, and make today, the first Monday of the new year, be different. Apparently, I got him mixed up with Tinkerbelle.
Today was supposed to be the grand start of all of my resolutions. I should have waken up rested after a full night’s sleep, ready to exercise, feeling grateful for the new year, thankful for the day, and, above all, cheerful, #@#* it!
But instead I woke up tired after having a nightmare. (Shouldn’t I have outgrown those by now?) Not to mention the fact that I woke up late, headachy, thanks to the nasty rainy day, and all together out of sorts. It was indeed a Monday, just like every other Monday in 2008—and, as I predict, every other Monday in 2010 will be--miserable.
As I rushed to the dermatologist to have a pesky wart removed from my knee (That’s always fun!), I realized I was out of gas, so I stopped to fill up. After repeated tries, I got the pump working and promptly splattered myself with gas. I guess that makes up for the shower I didn’t have time to take.
After spending hours in the waiting room inhaling my own fumes, I finally saw the doctor. Not to be daunted, I moved on to my next errand—the bank. I’m a Girl Scout leader, and the big bank where our account is had started charging us a monthly maintenance fee of $13. Two more months, and we’d be out of business.
This mistake was no longer a big deal because it has happened for the past six years, and I’ve grown used to it. Usually I go in and explain, and they fix it in the system and vow to never, ever charge us again, because we are the Girl Scouts, and they love the Girl Scouts. Then they give me their business cards, which I now throw in the trash as I leave the door because these people are never around for more than a year.
Sure enough, I sat down before a new lady today to explain our situation. She looked confused, so I mentioned several people at the very same branch who had helped me in the past.
“Never heard of them,” she said.
Then, frustrated, I more or less said, “We go through this every year. Now click the button and make it go away.” Maybe I could have put it a little nicer.
“Nope, sorry. Nothing we can do.”
So, I, having recently watched a rerun of the Beverly Hillbillies in which Granny tells Mr. Dresdale that she wants all of her money back, so she can put it under her mattress, tell the lady, “I know you could care a less, but if you don’t fix this, I’m going to pull all of the money in my personal account out of this bank.”
She glanced down at my pitiful, post-Christmas balance, raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that said, “You’re right. I could care a less.”
“Six months without charge,” she said. English was not her first language.
This called for drastic measures. I moved in closer, looked dead into her cold eyes, and said slowly in a low but firm voice, “I’ll remember this come cookie time.”
I saw a look of fear cross her face, her fingers frantically tapping on the keyboard.
“I see, Ms. Knight. It looks like we can take this off for another year after all and refund the charges to the account ASAP.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Shall I put you down for a box of Thin Mints?”
I guess her mama never warned her not to mess with the Girl Scouts, especially on a Monday.
(Disclaimer: Just in case some staunch Girl Scout official reads this blog, the last five sentences happened merely in my imagination. I, as a leader, would never threaten someone by withholding Girl Scout cookies. It would be way too dangerous.)
Today was supposed to be the grand start of all of my resolutions. I should have waken up rested after a full night’s sleep, ready to exercise, feeling grateful for the new year, thankful for the day, and, above all, cheerful, #@#* it!
But instead I woke up tired after having a nightmare. (Shouldn’t I have outgrown those by now?) Not to mention the fact that I woke up late, headachy, thanks to the nasty rainy day, and all together out of sorts. It was indeed a Monday, just like every other Monday in 2008—and, as I predict, every other Monday in 2010 will be--miserable.
As I rushed to the dermatologist to have a pesky wart removed from my knee (That’s always fun!), I realized I was out of gas, so I stopped to fill up. After repeated tries, I got the pump working and promptly splattered myself with gas. I guess that makes up for the shower I didn’t have time to take.
After spending hours in the waiting room inhaling my own fumes, I finally saw the doctor. Not to be daunted, I moved on to my next errand—the bank. I’m a Girl Scout leader, and the big bank where our account is had started charging us a monthly maintenance fee of $13. Two more months, and we’d be out of business.
This mistake was no longer a big deal because it has happened for the past six years, and I’ve grown used to it. Usually I go in and explain, and they fix it in the system and vow to never, ever charge us again, because we are the Girl Scouts, and they love the Girl Scouts. Then they give me their business cards, which I now throw in the trash as I leave the door because these people are never around for more than a year.
Sure enough, I sat down before a new lady today to explain our situation. She looked confused, so I mentioned several people at the very same branch who had helped me in the past.
“Never heard of them,” she said.
Then, frustrated, I more or less said, “We go through this every year. Now click the button and make it go away.” Maybe I could have put it a little nicer.
“Nope, sorry. Nothing we can do.”
So, I, having recently watched a rerun of the Beverly Hillbillies in which Granny tells Mr. Dresdale that she wants all of her money back, so she can put it under her mattress, tell the lady, “I know you could care a less, but if you don’t fix this, I’m going to pull all of the money in my personal account out of this bank.”
She glanced down at my pitiful, post-Christmas balance, raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that said, “You’re right. I could care a less.”
“Six months without charge,” she said. English was not her first language.
This called for drastic measures. I moved in closer, looked dead into her cold eyes, and said slowly in a low but firm voice, “I’ll remember this come cookie time.”
I saw a look of fear cross her face, her fingers frantically tapping on the keyboard.
“I see, Ms. Knight. It looks like we can take this off for another year after all and refund the charges to the account ASAP.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Shall I put you down for a box of Thin Mints?”
I guess her mama never warned her not to mess with the Girl Scouts, especially on a Monday.
(Disclaimer: Just in case some staunch Girl Scout official reads this blog, the last five sentences happened merely in my imagination. I, as a leader, would never threaten someone by withholding Girl Scout cookies. It would be way too dangerous.)
1 comment:
Oh MAN I love this! You rock! What a brilliant way of handling this situation!
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