sucks.
If you currently bank there.."Take the money and run," in the words of Steve Miller Band. They'll suck you dry and then ask for your first born, and a your last piece of gum.
Do I sound disgruntled? Good. Cause I am.
Boys and girls, let me tell you a tale of a young girl, let's say of 24 years of age living in Worcester named...Maris.
Maris had a couple of occassions to attend one weekend. A graduation party and a birthday. She made sure she had the necessary funds in her bank account to cover any "extravagant behavior." She had fun. A lot of fun. She lived within her means. Or so she thought...
After her fun weekend, Maris checked her bank account. To her surprise she had negative $80 dollars. Yup, it was red -she was in the red. Shockingly she looked to see what had happened. What had HAPPENED was her internet service decided to take out $130 from her bank account. Wow, in 2009, how does internet cost $130 she thought... So, upon having 5 overdrafts, she decided to do some investigating, and begging, if needed.
Verizon internet was charging her accurately. Okay, Maris understood that. But she was still upset that she had no warning. So Maris, having a very good banking history marched herself right down the street to Bank of America to see if she could explain what happened to a nice customer service Rep to bypass the charges...
She met, let's call her, Ivanna Be-a-bitch-alot. Maris sat down with Ivanna and explained her situation. Ivanna didn't seem very compassionate, but said she would ask "the computer" what it thought. "the computer," did not want to appease Maris' request. So Maris went on to ask Ivanna, "well it's a computer? Can I speak with a manager?" Ivanna explained that the computer was the end all, be all. Really?
Maris started her rant. "Well, I have been banking here for atleast 10 years -with no problems. People say bad things about Bank of America, while I defend you. If I am really having a relationship with a computer, and you will not even reason with me and take 3 of the 5 $35 overdraft fee charges away I am going to come in to tomorrow (pay day), empty my account, and bank somewhere else." Ivanna didn't give a damn, even though Maris was bluffing.
Maris thought, if only I were a 40 year-old man in a suit. That would have made the difference. But, unfortunately, she was a 24 year-old khaki wearing girl with dimples, lacking any leverage. This may have been a bad story, but "take 'your' money and run" people. Take the money and run.
The End.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Ashley
is my sister.
I miss her. She will be back in America soon with my nephew, Aiden, and after living on separate continents for a year, I have become more appreciative of having a sister, and a good friend. We call that, a "twofor."
We are only 16 months apart, and have had our ups and downs through life. Fighting to the point of almost killing eachother one moment and then being best friends the next. We are extremely similar, yet polar oppossites. There's a contradiction for ya.
She once threw a basketball at my head out of anger. On that same note, she also through a phone, a book, and many other objects at my head -but the basketball is the most memorable. It was infront of our whole Junior varsity basketball team, and well, it hurt. Maybe while I had my secret littering addiction, she had a secret "throwing objects at people" addiction. I think she has grown out of it, but I still wear a helmet when we hang out. Just incase.
Another memory that just popped in my head... We were young and she told me to put my middle finger up. Me, not thinking this was an odd request, did it. I did not realize it held any symbolism at the time. Wanna know what she did the second I did what she requested? She told on me. Yup, that's right, she ratted me out. "Mom! Charis stuck her middle finger up!," My mom was appalled, and I started crying. In between sobs, I said that I didn't know what it meant, and Ashley whispered, "It means you hate Jesus." I cried louder, "BUT I DON'T HATE JESUS." Ashley probably does not remember this memory, but apparently it took a toll on me.
We were pretty strange children, and come to think of it, we are pretty strange "adults." We would write short stories. I think that is how I got in to writing. We would tell ellaborate tales about ghosts and mysteries. We read a lot too. She was in to Nancy Drew, and I was in to the Valley Girls. We did this for fun, believe it or not. We also would play a lot of make believe games. Our bikes were cars, trees and mail boxes were stores, and our brother Scott was a pon in our games, doing whatever we made him do. We called this particular bike game, "Life." We thought it was so fun to pretend to be adults. Stopping at trees to buy fake groceries, opening our neighbors mailboxes, pretending they were banks. Why is it that children want to be grown-ups so badly and then we you grow up, you want to be children again? Riddle me that.
Excuse my random nostalgia, I just miss my sister.
I miss her. She will be back in America soon with my nephew, Aiden, and after living on separate continents for a year, I have become more appreciative of having a sister, and a good friend. We call that, a "twofor."
We are only 16 months apart, and have had our ups and downs through life. Fighting to the point of almost killing eachother one moment and then being best friends the next. We are extremely similar, yet polar oppossites. There's a contradiction for ya.
She once threw a basketball at my head out of anger. On that same note, she also through a phone, a book, and many other objects at my head -but the basketball is the most memorable. It was infront of our whole Junior varsity basketball team, and well, it hurt. Maybe while I had my secret littering addiction, she had a secret "throwing objects at people" addiction. I think she has grown out of it, but I still wear a helmet when we hang out. Just incase.
Another memory that just popped in my head... We were young and she told me to put my middle finger up. Me, not thinking this was an odd request, did it. I did not realize it held any symbolism at the time. Wanna know what she did the second I did what she requested? She told on me. Yup, that's right, she ratted me out. "Mom! Charis stuck her middle finger up!," My mom was appalled, and I started crying. In between sobs, I said that I didn't know what it meant, and Ashley whispered, "It means you hate Jesus." I cried louder, "BUT I DON'T HATE JESUS." Ashley probably does not remember this memory, but apparently it took a toll on me.
We were pretty strange children, and come to think of it, we are pretty strange "adults." We would write short stories. I think that is how I got in to writing. We would tell ellaborate tales about ghosts and mysteries. We read a lot too. She was in to Nancy Drew, and I was in to the Valley Girls. We did this for fun, believe it or not. We also would play a lot of make believe games. Our bikes were cars, trees and mail boxes were stores, and our brother Scott was a pon in our games, doing whatever we made him do. We called this particular bike game, "Life." We thought it was so fun to pretend to be adults. Stopping at trees to buy fake groceries, opening our neighbors mailboxes, pretending they were banks. Why is it that children want to be grown-ups so badly and then we you grow up, you want to be children again? Riddle me that.
Excuse my random nostalgia, I just miss my sister.
Littering
I've done it.
In fact, I have a confession. When I was a child I loved to litter. I am ashamed to admit this, but it is time to confess. I cannot keep it bottled up any longer.
Using the world as my trash can and disobeying my mother gave me a rush, it was amazing. I remember my favorite place to litter out of was the car on the highway. I remember so vividly taking the remnants of my happy meal container and throwing pieces out the window, watching in the side mirror as the trashed released from my grasp and whipped away. I was such a compulsive litterer that I even took a flip flop off of my foot once and chucked it out the window. I was stealth. I had to be. I would peer at my mother, to make sure she was focused on the road, and then BAM I would litter. It was rather difficult explaining to her what had happened to my left flip flop once we met our destination. But, being probably 5 or 6 years of age, I could get away with just "losing" things.
As I got older, my addiction got harder to cover up. People would see, and would look at me with the look of disgrace. You know, everyone's like "save the planet, recycle, be green." Nope, not me. It just wasn't my nature. I loved to litter and refused to seek help. But then, things changed. I started to realize the importance of having both of my shoes, and the satisfaction of placing things in trash cans. The litter club I wanted to start didn't seem as alluring. I am happy to say I have been litter free since 1997.
Thanks for listening. The first step is acceptance.
In fact, I have a confession. When I was a child I loved to litter. I am ashamed to admit this, but it is time to confess. I cannot keep it bottled up any longer.
Using the world as my trash can and disobeying my mother gave me a rush, it was amazing. I remember my favorite place to litter out of was the car on the highway. I remember so vividly taking the remnants of my happy meal container and throwing pieces out the window, watching in the side mirror as the trashed released from my grasp and whipped away. I was such a compulsive litterer that I even took a flip flop off of my foot once and chucked it out the window. I was stealth. I had to be. I would peer at my mother, to make sure she was focused on the road, and then BAM I would litter. It was rather difficult explaining to her what had happened to my left flip flop once we met our destination. But, being probably 5 or 6 years of age, I could get away with just "losing" things.
As I got older, my addiction got harder to cover up. People would see, and would look at me with the look of disgrace. You know, everyone's like "save the planet, recycle, be green." Nope, not me. It just wasn't my nature. I loved to litter and refused to seek help. But then, things changed. I started to realize the importance of having both of my shoes, and the satisfaction of placing things in trash cans. The litter club I wanted to start didn't seem as alluring. I am happy to say I have been litter free since 1997.
Thanks for listening. The first step is acceptance.
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