And how do you do it?
And make it seem effortless
When it’s all the stupid things
So overwhelming to me
Like paying my bills
Or showing up for work early
Or laughing at your jokes
~ Rilo Kiley
Previously on: My Life
1) I was terrible with directions.
2) I despised running errands.
3) I was blonde.
So you can imagine then, my trepidation at the prospect of finding a bank near my new job. I work in Farmingdale, and all I know is Wellwood Avenue. Although I don’t know if “know” is the proper description, since it was only this morning (my sixth trip to the place) that I realized I had to pass over train tracks to get here.
But anyway, yesterday I was trying to find a branch that I could go to during lunch. I hate going to the bank, but I still have to deposit my Boulder Creek checks. And I don’t have an ATM card because I overdrew my account so they punished me by cancelling my card. And I haven’t gotten a new ATM card yet because:
a) not being able to touch my money while at a bar is not necessarily a bad thing
b) Please see 2).
c) Whenever I get a new ATM card after I inevitably overdraw my account, the bank people ask if I want to add debiting power to my card and:
i) I decide yes, that would be the grownup thing to do.
ii) They tell me I have to fill out forms.
iii) Please see 2).
But as fate would have it, I am now back at a desk job, and only work at Boulder Creek on the weekend now. Which means, no more cash on hand. (“Cash,” mind you, should not be confused with “money.”) I really needed to get an ATM card. And I really needed to deposit my Boulder check.
I go to — you know what? Maybe I should not name my bank on the Internet. But I’ll just say that it’s not like a Chase or a Citibank, meaning it’s hard to find. But according to the Internet, there was a branch located on “Conklin Street,” which I discovered yesterday. Of course, yesterday I was tired and moody and the weather was gray and foreboding, so I decided not to mess around with trying to find this “Conklin Street,” choosing the safety of my tiny microwaved lunch at my desk because I’m new and have no friends.
This morning on my way to work, I noticed that there happened to be a “Conklin Street” right in front of my eyes! Not only that, but the street began there, so there was only one way I could go! It seemed pretty foolproof, even for me. By lunchtime, I was filled with resolve. The sun was out, and normally I’m not a fan, but after all of the grayness of the week, I was ready for it. I felt that going out and being a responsible citizen would make me feel accomplished. I mean, I’d even worn a jacket today! Normally that doesn’t happen till at least halfway through December.
Responsible! So I start driving, prepared for one of those experiences that people have when they annoyingly say, “I was so productive this weekend,” and you’re like, “Shut up.” Today I was going to be one of those irritating people who get excited about the sun and running errands!
The first thing that mocked my positivity as I drove cheerfully away from work was the following exchange in my brain:
“I made the right choice; it’s sunny and nice and I can listen to some music.”
“Yeah, I’m definitely not feeling 1010 WINS.”
“My iPod is totally what I need right now.”
“My iPod is on my desk back at work.”
So the radio was on my nerves with its unimaginative Christmas songs, and ubiquitous Rob Thomas, and Z100 being crappy and making me mad at the youth of America for liking such shitty music. So I listened to Jay-Z on Hot 97, who sometimes is good, but sometimes just sounds like he’s drunk at four in the morning and keeps forgetting that he’s already told you a hundred times how much money he has, and like, you don’t care to begin with. But this was one of his good songs, so all was well.
Meanwhile, the clock was ticking (not literally, that would really get to me), and I only get 45 minutes for lunch. So I’m like, well that’s sad to drive all the way down Conklin Street for nothing. But THEN I got distracted by the next song, ’cause it sounded like some dude is all really enthusiastic about wanting ice cream, and I’m thinking, well that’s nice that he is extolling youthful joys, until I realize he’s singing about going down on a woman and like ENOUGH, because that should be able to sound sexy, but it pretty much just always sounds gross. And stop referring to my vagina as a “peach.”
ANYWAY. So I’m getting filled with indignation at the song and I decide that I really need to go back to work now. No check, no ATM card. Just a terrible “song” apparently called “Peaches and Cream.” Bad day.
But THEN lo and behold, as I make an ill-advised three-point turn in a single-lane, solid-double-yellow-lined street, I realize, I am totally blocking this dude trying to get out of a parking lot. I try to give him a thank-you wave ™Seinfeld, but sort of just hit myself in the face instead, because I was very distracted.
You see, the man was leaving the parking lot of MY BANK.
There it was! So I turn into the parking lot, and lo and behold! “(My Bank) Walk-Up and Drive-Thru.” On a sign! With an arrow. I drove in and parked, very, VERY proud of myself. I was even going to go ahead and get an ATM card!
No I wasn’t. I couldn’t anyway, because this weird little place didn’t have any doors! Not for the public, anyway. It was like a McDonald’s Express, only a bank! Fascinating. And confusing, because it was no longer facing the street, and I’d thought it looked much bigger when I saw it. Never mind, I was here and that’s what mattered.
I got on line. There was a lady talking to a chick in a sweatshirt about Binghamton, and this chick was bumming me out, ’cause she was talking about how she would totally “have went” to Binghamton, but she’s an Education Major, and they don’t have that, or she would “have went.” But she loves Hofstra. I don’t think this chick and I could hang.
Anyway, then I deposited my check, and it feels like when you buy 40s at the rando gas station ’cause no one else will sell them after 2 a.m. on Saturday/Sunday, and also, ID? Who needs ID? And no, you can’t use the bathroom. So you drop in your money, and get the 40 in exchange; that is how this experience felt.
How weird and cute and charming, this tiny little kiosk bank! I thought as I went back to my car. Too bad I can’t get an ATM card there due to the “limited services available.” Oh well.
And then I looked up, and I see…a bank. My bank. My grownup, full-sized bank.
That explained so much! How the bank had followed me onto the other street, for example. And how it had changed in size. And how it was no longer facing the busy street where I found it to begin with.
ATM card? Still don’t have one, but I got to stay guilt-free about it for another day.
And though I still didn’t have my iPod, the radio remained mercifully cunnilingus-free on my trip home. All in all, meaning that today was a good day (after all).
© November 28, 2007
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