Monday, August 28, 2006

I don't rant at you people often

I got in a huge argument with a drunken whore of a bank teller on Friday afternoon. I'm poor, I need money. I wanted to make sure the check I was depositing would clear before my electric bill came out of my account. She repeatedly assured me that nothing would come out until midnight on Monday and then everything would be gravy. I didn't believe her. She asked me what my major was and told me I should have gone pre-law...I think that was her polite way of calling me a bitch. Saturday, I get my loan check in the mail and wait with anxious anticipation for Monday morning, when the Gods of Financial Freedom will have smiled on me and I will have money for gas and food and cigarettes.

I get off of work this morning (that's right, guys, I work overnight on Sunday nights. I've been up since yesterday morning) and head to the bank, only to have the drive-thru teller oh-so-discreetly send out a balance statement just to let me know that my account is overdrawn, like $80 bucks, before their ridiculous overdraft charges have kicked in. WTF dude. I'm so pissed. I tell her about the whole fiasco with the teller on Friday, and she asks to see my receipt. I send it in to her, and her big attempt at mitigating my frustration is to tell me that teller is someone who doesn't usually work there. Oh yes, I feel much better.

So fuck those bitches, I went to the store and bought my food anyway, and just wrote a check.

Whatever, I'm irritated. I haven't slept, I'm broke as fuck until these checks clear, and classes start today. I'm not even in all of the classes I need to be in. Please tell me how I'm a fucking senior and can't get into the classes that I need without begging a professor to squeeze me in. Maybe it's because they fired 30 English instructors to hire a third as many PhD's to teach half as many classes, all in the name of improving our U.S. News ranking. Fuckers.


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