Sunday, July 7, 2013

Punishment For the Good-Deeder

The universe has not taken a holiday from conspiring against Val.

I found out Saturday morning that Hick is laying in hay stores for the winter. Uh huh. Who woulda thunk that July is the time to buy winter hay? Not me. Because last year we bought winter hay in the winter. Or tried to. Because hay was scarce. Apparently, people had not been making hay last summer when the sun shone at 108 degrees for several weeks. So our goats had to eat goat chow, or whatever they eat when there is no hay, no bark left on the cedar trees in their pen, and no tin cans laying around.

Because Hick was going right then, that morning, to hook up his truck to a trailer of 75 square bales to haul it home and wake up Genius to stack in under the BARn lean-to...I had to cough up a couple of hundred bucks in cash. Not only that, but Genius was strong-arming me to pay for half a monitor. Yes. Half a monitor. He bought a whole one, but thought I should pay half, because it's for college. For his laptop to hook up to, and to use as a TV. Last time I checked, laptops came with screens. But you know how I am out-of-touch with technology. So I figured I could scrape up the money, then go take some out of our account at the bank's ATM. The Pony could ride with me, logging some front-seat time as decreed by Hick.

This good deed cost me dearly.

The Pony does not like riding up front. We have compromised. He rides shotgun on the way to where we're going, and he rides behind me on the way back. What his dad doesn't know won't hurt him. As we started into the garage, I said, "Up front, remember? Dad says."

"He didn't say anything about THIS trip. That was last time."

"No. He means EVERY time." The Pony sighed and hopped in. I ran in Save A Lot, another part of the good deed, because Hick wanted more meat for grilling. Gotta keep the new auction grill, Gassy G, in business. He's like the opposite of the boiler at the Overlook Hotel. We don't have to watch him like an Excedrin-chomping Jack Torrance to dump the pressure, we have to furnish him with neverending sacrificial flesh. If denied, Gassy G might grow grumpy, and growl at us like the furnace in that Home Alone boy's basement.

We continued to the bank. I lectured The Pony as I went through the motions, "Always be aware of your surroundings. Lock your doors if you're in the car at the ATM." I took out my exact amount. Counted it to make sure the machine didn't short me ten dollars like the human at my mom's bank. I drove around through the back alley so The Pony could hop into the back seat. "Do it here, at the stop sign. There's nothing behind us. I'll put my money away before we go to Sonic for your lunch. Wait a minute! WHERE'S MY DEBIT CARD?"

Yes. I had left it in the machine, being discombobulated by the new timing of my cash trip, the new amount, the new front-seat companion. You know how it's the little things that can throw you off your game. "What time it is? Oh, no. It's almost noon. Let's go back and see if it's in the machine. Hopefully, nobody else had gone through the cash machine. I'm not going backwards up the alley. Here. Let's cut across this lot and go back." Of course fifteen cars were going our way, impeding my pull-out. The Pony watched them like a hawk.

"Nobody went into the bank lot, Mom!"

"No? Probably because they're closing at noon." I went to the ATM. It had already gone back to new customer mode. I backed up and entered one of the three drive-thru bays. The workers were milling around at the front counter area, not at the drive-thru post. "Excuse me! I think I left my debit card in the ATM. Could you please check and see if it's there?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. We're not allowed to open the ATM until Monday. You'll have to check back then."

No rest for the weary, no joy in Mudville, no cash for the stupid. I'll be going to the bank on Monday morning.


  1. We may drink fake booze, but in New Jersey they would have checked the machine or not gone home that night!

  2. Really? They're not allowed? That's a bunch of hooey.

    You should have pitched a fit, gotten loud, made threats, and brandished something from your purse that was repurposed as a weapon. (What would that be? I wonder...) That would have been a great way to finish off your summer.

  3. Gotta love a bank on Saturday. That reminds me when I had a bunch of checks to deposit and one was larger in size than the rest (why in the world do companies do that?) and had to use the vacuum tube drive-thru. I went through and got money back, and when I explained that I shouldn't get any back, I was told there was an extra check that wasn't on the slip. I should have gotten the teller's name so I could have asked her about the letter I got the next week about my deposit slip not showing the correct amount. To this day I refuse to go through that line even if I have to wait forever to see a person.

  4. joeh,
    I wouldn't be surprised if the New Jersey Department of Tourism recruits you to promote your fine state as a vacation/relocation destination. :0

    The best weapon in my purse is the earphone cord on an MP3 player that I made Genius load up with music for me to listen to after my thyroid surgery a couple years back. I never used it in the hospital, what with the staff forgetting to hook up my oxygen nose tubey thingy to the oxygen supply in the wall, causing me to drop off to sleep every few minutes, setting off an alarm, prompting the nurse to run in and tell me to take deep breaths to wake up. That cord could be used as a weapon of strangulation. Not that I would use it for such. This isn't New Jersey, you know.

    Sounds like the bank that shorted my septuagenarian mother ten dollars at the drive-thru when she deposited a check and took some cash back. I used to nurse a vendetta again a drive-thru teller at my own bank, because of the sing-songy, smart-butt way she sneered, "Have a nice DAAAYYY!"