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So it turns out I’m no hero. Apparently my marrow just isn’t good enough. That’s a shame. I do hope that 13-year old girl does find a match–it just looks like it’s not going to be mine. Does this mean I have to give back my cape?
My job is a colossal waste of time and taxpayer dollars. There–I said it. It feels good to get it off my chest. Then again, it also feels good to get a paycheck, so perhaps I won’t say it too loudly or to the people who pay me.
Not that I’m the problem. I’m actually quite good at my job–the problem is the position itself. I work for an after-school tutoring company. The program is designed to help students who possess below-grade level math or reading skills and are struggling to keep up. The school identifies students who might benefit from the service and offers it–at absolutely no expense to the parents at all. The theory behind this free program is to help bring those students up to grade-level skills. Students work with tutors in order to boost their skills and (hopefully) catch them up to their peers. My job is to oversee . . . . .
I’m tempted to add the US Postal Service to my long list of banned businesses (including, but not limited to: Toys-R-Us, Purrfect Auto Care, the Walt Disney Corporation, Bank of America, Kevin Costner movies, and KFC–which has since been rescinded). That’s right: the Post Office will never get another dime out of me. Kramer was right ten years ago: the Post Office is simply an entity that outlived its time.
I was at the Post Office because I had to ship a package. When it came time to pay for the postage, the clerk refused my credit card because it wasn’t signed in the back. See, I like to think I’m smarter than the average bear. A signed credit card doesn’t protect you from fraud–hell, it just makes it easier for the criminals to pull off a heist. That’s because with a signed credit card, the deviants have an exact sample of your signature. All they gotta do is practice it at home and–viola!–a perfect forgery. But leaving a blank card is pretty foolish too because the criminal simply sign the card and make “your” signature look anyway he wants. So many years ago, I came up with a foolproof . . . . .
Dear PayPal;
I recently added a bank account to my PayPal account but I think doing so created some sort of major glitch in your system. The bank account was somehow removed from my PayPal profile. When I tried to add it again, the account was disallowed. An error message told me to fax over a recent bank statement and a cover letter provided to re-add the account. I did as told and received another email telling me that I now needed to fax over a copy of my driver’s license and a copy of my most recent bank statement on a paper with bank letterhead. Meanwhile, I’ve been having all sorts of problems making transactions. My most recent purchase was didn’t go through and was canceled by the vendor because PayPal didn’t transfer the funds. What’s going on?
I receive paperless billing and don’t have access to my bank’s letterhead to print out a statement. Plus, I feel real uncomfortable spending copies of my driver’s license and bank statements to some foreign fax machine far away from me.
What gives? Why am I having problems? PayPal is supposed to be easy. If I knew there would be these ridiculous . . . . .
I have spent way too much time over the past couple weeks talking about politics. Sure, it’s a subject that fires me up–and I guess it’s best to write about something you care about–but that’s not the kinda writer I wanna be. I like writing about funny stuff. I like telling amusing, lighthearted stories with my own slanted view on society. So enough with the gloom, doom, and negativity–let’s talk about something fun.
From the “it could only happen to me category,” lemme tellya about the snafu I somehow managed to get caught up in with my landlord. I learned a long time ago I’d much rather have something do something automagically than be held responsible to remember to do it myself. It’s not so much because I’m forgetful…I just sorta get distracted and ignore responsibilities for something more amusing. Either that, or I’m lazy. In any case, it’s all automatic for me. Programming the VCR to record shows (back when I had a VCR) even if I planned on staying home to watch them (ya know, just in case). My phone is “programmed” to change to “audible” every night just in case I fall asleep with it on vibrate. . . . . .
I broke the law today. The Girlfriend thinks I’m evil person and continuous lawbreaker–but it’s not something I do every day (unless keeping a dead hooker buried in your basement is illegal). I should probably hire a lawyer and only confess my wrongdoings to a priest but I’m so damn emotional about the topic I can’t keep my mouth shut.
I was stuck in yet another freeway traffic jam. This one was nowhere near as bad as previous timewasters–but frustrating nonetheless. My friends and coworkers tell me I should take solace in that at least I’m getting paid to sit in traffic but it’s just not enough for me. Getting outside is great and being in a cubicle sucks: but sitting in traffic isn’t much better. I suppose technically I’m outside. But with all the exhaust from other cars, you can’t roll the window down. The car feels like a plush prison cell, equipped with a radio and air conditioning.
As I was parked on the freeway, I watched the vehicles in the carpool lane brisk past me. I was moving a swift ten miles per hour; they were driving about six times faster than that. And even though they . . . . .
I’ve been having a toenail problem lately. My whole life, I cut my toenails once a month–maybe even every six weeks. But lately it seems like my toenails are growing with a fury. I hafta cut ’em once every two weeks or they grow disgustingly long. Making this situation even messier, somehow the left foot and right foot got off cycle. I don’t know how, but at one point I must’ve trimmed one foot and forgot to do the other. So now one set of toenails is much longer than the other. I’ll trim the left toenails but can’t cut the right because they’re too short. A week later, the right nails hafta be cut and I can’t cut the left because I just trimmed ’em the week before. This is totally throwing my grooming habits off…and I’m sure you didn’t wanna hear this.
Speaking of unpleasant, I’ve been having some pharmaceutical problems lately (boy, I’m just full of problems). I’m not sure if I blame the idiots at the pharmacy or the numbskulls at the doctor’s office, but there’s been a major fussup regarding a prescription I have.
I used to be on a drug called Ahneedapill. But last . . . . .
About two week ago I bought a GPS navigation device for my car. I had been thinking about it for a while now so it wasn’t entirely an impulse buy. That being said, I didn’t walk into Fry’s to buy a GPS. Fry’s was in the middle of a massive anniversary sale. Most electronic store “sales” don’t really provide much of a discount (nine times outta ten the price is predetermined by the manufacture). But when Fry’s has a sale, it’s usually legit.
I wandered over to the GPSs and was immediately helped by a salesman. I was there strictly for information because I was still in the preliminary shopping stages. I knew little about the differences between GPSs. Why are some $200 and some $400? It’s not like a computer where you pay more for bigger and fast–a GPS doesn’t need bigger and faster. The salesman pointed out the various features and showed me a device that was on-sale that day (and that day only) for $200.
Like I said, normally I scoff at sales. But I noticed that Fry’s was also offering a significantly lesser GPS made by the same manufacture for the same exact price. Was this . . . . .
My dear friend Red Jesus owes me a rather sizable sum of money and when I bought pizza tonight, it bumped up the tab ten bucks. “That’s $83 you owe me now,” I reminded him.
Being the kind of person who doesn’t like having debt hanging over his head, Red Jesus reached for his wallet. He didn’t have the $83 on him–but he had some cash and wanted to make a dent in his outstanding debt. “Here ya go,” he said and handed me some cash.
“Three bucks?” I said to him.
“You’ll get your money,” he said, tying to justify the smallest good-faith payment the world has ever seen. With deadbeats like that, who needs enemies?
Let’s dive into a quickie about the health care industry. Since Dr. Zaius and Sacred Heart Hospital tried killing me (which is another story I’d like to tell–but we’ll save that for different day), I wanna see a different doctor regarding my deviated septum. I don’t know why it took me two months to contact the insurance (maybe it’s because deep-down, I knew it’d be a pain in the ass). I called the insurance and explained my situation. Dr. Zaius said I had . . . . .
I lent The Girlfriend my credit card and she lost it. Well, technically, it was in my possession last. But because I gave it to her and she handed it back to me a day later, my rhythm was disrupted and I didn’t put the card where it belongs in my wallet. So you see, it’s all her fault: if I never gave her the card, I wouldn’tve lost it (or would that make it my fault for giving it to her?).
Anywhos, a lost credit card can be a bit of a pain because of all the things I have set up on autopay. I had to change the credit card on file with my landlord and other various companies that automatically bill me every month. A drag–but not impossible.
Unfortunately, the transition didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped. Even after I changed the credit card on file, T-Mobile kept sending me text messages, insisting that my bill couldn’t be processed. After logging on to T-Mobile’s website and confirming the card number had been changed, I had no choice but to call them up.
I’ve had very little complaints about T-Mobile. They’re not as bad as Sprint–but T-Mobile . . . . .
I’m getting tired of fighting the good fight. Corporate America keeps screwing up and I’m the one who has to fix it. I’m starting to realize why most folks don’t care–it takes too much time resolve a billing error. Too much stress. Too much hassle.
I can’t even begin to tell you how much time I wasted with my credit card fiasco a few weeks back. Easily three or four hours. Not too mention all the stress it caused me. And for what? It was a situation that was entirely not my fault.
Well no more. See, all the corporations have no problem charging us extra here or there because most people don’t notice or care enough to do anything about it. But not me (I only get dicked over by family). I call and complain and get the situation resolved.
But it doesn’t seem fair. Why should I hafta do this? Why should I have to waste my time to fix your screw up? The companies don’t care about your time–it doesn’t cost them a dime. Well not anymore. An idea came to me this week when T-Mobile screwed up my phone bill: restitution. The way I see it, . . . . .
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