The play is entitled, "Choose Your Own Play". It is one of these interactive shows. The Offspring's mother, cadona, went last weekend and it sounded like she had a good time. Never one to pass up a good time, I was gonna drive back across Houston (no small proposition in itself on a GOOD day) to go, and I thought maybe we could grab a bite after.
So I slot my card in the machine, finger poised over the keys to enter my pin. And the machine spits my card out. I take it out, thinking maybe I put it in the slot back-asswards or something, and re-insert. Taking the time to make sure I was putting it in the right way.
The machine returns an error, saying it had called for repairs or something. But it doesn't give me my card back! An 800 number flashes on the screen that you can call and find the nearest ATM. So while still sitting there at the effing machine, I make the call. After paging through the formidable menu system I manage to get a live person on the phone, and after identifying myself seven ways from Sunday, explain what has happened, and as I expected was told the only thing to be done is to cancel the card and re-issue a new one. This process takes 5 to 7 working days...I am incensed at this development. "Would I like to do this?" I am asked by the nice foreign gentleman on the other end of my phone call.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No Mr. T's...not really"
I am dead, flat, busted broke. Got maybe 2 dollars in change. It is 6:10 PM and the branch of the bank I am SITTING at closed at SIX! A quick check of my backpack tells me I DO NOT have my checkbook with me.
"Fine. Order the card..."
He then proceeeds to remind me that it will take 5 to 7 working days to get my new card to me. This does nothing to assuage my growing sense of incensement (I just made that word up *grins*) but I choose not to take it out on the polite person on the other end of the conversation. We finish up and ring off...
However, if I had an RPG or an automatic weapon, that effing ATM would be frickin' TOAST! I'd a snuck up behind the fucker and fragged it! Good thing I didn't have either of those things. Probably a federal rap. Toasting an Automated Teller machine. No doubt federal time would be required.
So I drive back to the house. Pour myself a stiff drink (a nice 18 year old single malt) and yes there is my checkbook, sitting on my desk. Call The Offspring to verify I'll be able to embarrass her tomorrow night at the show. *grins* Just kidding. And we ring off.
Just another day in the Twilight Zone. If I ever see Rod Serling, I'm gonna rip that ever present cigarette from his lip, throw it down and step on it. And then punch his ass right in the nose! Because every time some shit like this happens, thanks to watching that show every week in my childhood, I hear his voice, "Submitted for your approval..." POW! Right in the kisser! Way I figure it, he's got it coming...
lol! I feel much better now.