Today, this afternoon, I went to a Bank of America ATM to withdraw some money. I knew that I was a bit tight and didn't have a whole lot to work with, but fuck me running, I wasn't at all expecting to be in the red. I have a balance of -$116.46, I'm informed.
Ashen-faced, I go back to the office and log into bankofamerica.com and check my account history. Everything seems to add up - two friends visiting town, hey let's get drinks at this cool restaurant in The Village I heard good things about! (kaching!), lump-sum iTunes purchases for the month (kaching!), my rent check (kachink-kachink-ching!), etc etc. All makes sense, I was roughly expecting this state of affairs.... But hey, what's this? A mysterious check for two hundred plus overdraft penalties?! OK, I totally don't remember any of this happening. Like, what the fuck.
I walk over to the nearest Bank of America branch. Hopefully, it's all a mistake, and I can get my money back. I get invited into an office by one of the personal bankers, to whom I explain my situation. After pulling up the information on my account, he says, "It indicates here that the check you're asking about was made out to Stanford University. Does that sound familiar?" And I'm afraid it does. Although I made my student loan check out to them some three whole weeks ago, they kindly decided to cash it on 9-11 to remind me how poignant this day can be.
So here I was, with my oh so flaccid dick in my hand. Could I possibly get a cash advance on my (misplaced) credit card to keep me afloat till I get paid in a couple of days? No, the remaining balance on it is too low to allow me to do that. But then, he begins to explain, I should apply for a new credit card and if I'm approved, with 0% financing for the first six-months I can blah blah blah, and I spend the next couple of minutes having to tell him I'm not interested, while he's trying to tell me that, au contraire, I actually am. I begin to develop a psychosomatic head-ache. I foist off my final excuse and leave.
Tonight, a friend of mine and I were planning to go to Brooklyn and listen to some live folk music at a bar. I'm not sure if there's a cover charge at the place, but to be safe, it'd be wise of me to cancel. But I don't know, something feels wrong about that. She's a really cool person, plus she's leaving town tomorrow to begin her senior year. I have some slightly more than 11 dollars in my saving's account, $5 in my pocket, a lot of change at home, so let's just withdraw $10 and see what's what. So I join the teller line and wait for my turn with as much dignity as I can.
"Kindly swipe your card at the machine." I do as told.
"Please key in your PIN number." Press, press, press. Press. She looks at her screen.
"How much would you like to withdraw?" she asks, with a face that is superhumanly straight.
"Uh, 10 dollars from savings."
"Sure thing." She prints out a slip. "Kindly sign next to the X." Having done so, she peels off a single 10 dollar bill and places it onto the tray. She looks up at me. And finally gives in to the smile that I knew was there all along.
"Is that all for you today?" she asks, giggling a little, but still trying to keep a straight face.
"I believe so," I grin. I beamingly pocket the bigger part of my net worth in my jacket, and exit with my head on high.
As I'm about to leave the bank, I notice the alcove where they have the complimentary coffee out for customers. Hey, I mean, so I pour myself a free cup of coffee. I taste it. I find the coffee brings out the notes of paper cup. I duly obliterate it with lots and lots of sugar. And two plastic mini-jugs of creamer.
Coffee in hand, I walk across the street to the Credit Suisse smoking exit. Prime my iPod, put in my headphones, and light one of my last six cigarettes for the week. I inhale... God, I love Fantastic Plastic Machine!