Then I stubbed my toe on the refrigerator, and now the fridge is suing for unlawful contact after it warned me repeatedly to “Step Away from the Refrigerator, Chunkette.”
So I left the belligerent appliance and went to the bank. The line was so long I had to re-shave my legs. The teller looked at me suspiciously, and then abruptly shut her window. The next clerk was counting on his fingers just like I do so I felt comfortable. He urged me to stop placing threatening photos of Bonnie and Clyde on my checks and I agreed to desist if he would just deposit some currency from his account into mine every once in a while.
I did not hear his actual response but the guard who escorted me out of the building suggested I bank by mail with an offshore financial institute, or he said something about an institute, not sure.
Learning my local Post Office might close soon, I headed over there. I took a number that was for the next postal person or bagels, as frankly, all these lines look alike to me.
One employee was filing her nails, two others were playing post office and giggling. After hearing me tsk. tsk, constantly, a man behind me suggested I buy my stamps at the machine. That sounded sensible.
I inserted my dollar bills and they were promptly rejected. Being rejected by a beauty contest (as if that is even a remote possibility) is one thing - but a machine? I tried again. No luck. Not even an explanation such as “It’s not you, it’s me.”
It is the not knowing why that still haunts me. How will I become a better person or a proper currency inserter without clarification?
I realize these were just a few bummer hours in a lifetime filled with joy. These wounds will heal. I believe there will be other banks and equipment that will find me suitable.
In the scheme of things, I do have so much to be grateful for, since wine and chocolate are deemed healthy. Still my life will be complete only when future health advocates prove that crisp Bacon and Margaritas with salt on the rim truly promote longevity. I do not want to live in a world of exclusion and discrimination towards any person or food product. I know only too well how that feels, thanks to bigoted money devices, humorless bankers, and ice boxes, too.
I need unconditional love; something that has never turned me down or vice versa. A Margarita (the drink!) with Rumaki (an appetizer made of bacon wrapped around chicken livers and chestnuts) sounds just perfect. If they run out of liver and chestnuts, no problem. Bacon I want Bacon!!!!
Perhaps I'll have two Margaritas one for me and one for my imaginary friend. Thereafter, the urgency on finding a magic tape dispenser with a beeper may no longer be the lead wish on my bucket list. This day could turn out swell after all.