They must see me coming a mile away. Probably have a network of tin-can-and-twine phones to inform each other of my progress as I tool along in T-Hoe. Nothing electronical that can be detected if I decide to investigate.
Not only did my bank cheat me out of $20 by a faulty ATM dispenser, and deny my appeal... but now my credit union has hopped on the Val Has Deep Pockets And Won't Even Miss It bandwagon.
Last week, I stopped by the credit union to take out cash that I'd spent on The Pony's fall tuition. I make an e-payment, then withdraw cash from his college fund to replace it in our checking account. The total withdrawal was $151.25. Yeah. I know. That's AMAZING for a semester of out-of-state tuition at the University of Oklahoma. The Pony has a really good scholarship.
Anyhoo... I had the same teller I usually get at the credit union. A young gal of around college age herself. She's quite congenial. Started typing on her computer before I even shoved the note card bearing The Pony's name and amount through the little scoop under the glass divider. I often declare that the denomination of the bills doesn't matter, since they're just going to be deposited at my bank within 10 minutes. On this day, I needed a $5 bill back, to include with another deposit.
"I'll need two fives. The other bills don't matter."
Young Gal turned back from her money drawer.
"Ha, ha! I hope I have the right amount! We'll find out."
Not something that would make me confident, but she's never messed up before. She counted out six 20s, two 10s, two 5s, and a 1.
"There you go." She slid them through the scoop, on top of the yellow withdrawal receipt that I'd signed.
I thanked her, folded the bills, and put them in my shirt pocket. No need to ask for an envelope for that amount. I didn't want to carry it, because there was an old man with a walking stick and a trash bag sitting on a bench outside. Better safe than sorry, though an attempt by him to rob me would have looked like two Galapagos tortoises chasing each other.
I headed for the bank. Stopped for gas. Made my deposits. Took out our weekly cash from that demon ATM at the bank. It was on the way back to Backroads, for my 44 oz Diet Coke, that I thought:
"Wait a minute! I didn't get my quarter! The credit union gal only gave me bills! Not the quarter!"
I looked down in my pocket. Nope. No quarter. Dang it! I wasn't going back to the credit union. Not for a quarter. I'm not THAT cheap! Not like my mom, who bought select-a-size paper towels, and tore them in half. Um. Wait. I buy select-a-size paper towels. And cut them in half with my kitchen shears to take down to my dark basement lair. But that's different! If I have a guest, I'll let them have a whole select-a-size! And so what if I also tear my Puffs With Lotion in half before blowing my nose? I blow my nose a lot! So I'm saving money on Puffs
Huh. That took a surprising turn. But, no. I did NOT go back for my quarter. Too bad if her drawer was 25 cents off. It's JUST a quarter. I don't want to be labeled as DIFFICULT. It's not like I'd draw magic marker eyebrows on Uncle Leo at the doctor's office.
Still. That 25 cents was not their money. It was MINE. Why should I be seen as petty for trying to recover it? Where do we draw the line? A dollar? Five dollars?
I don't know. But I didn't go back.