How to Confuse a Bank Teller

It’s fun! It’s easy! Let’s play!

1. Pick a bank with branches in your city. Open an account in your native currency. Let’s say, oh, Canadian funds.

2. Write. Sell writing.

3. Receive payments by cheque, in foreign currencies and from foreign lands.
3b. Bonus points if they’re also written in a foreign language.

4. Take said cheques to your bank.

5. Stand in line behind a man who coincidentally has the same uncommon type of account as you do. Wait while he asks the teller to perform an intricate and complicated dance routine of withdrawals and deposits all to that one rare account. Pray quietly that the voice box of the customer complaining loudly at the next wicket will magically snap in two, rendering her silent and the bank much more peaceful. Wait until the teller manning your line’s wicket is thoroughly flustered and unable to concentrate.

6. This is the step that makes it or breaks it, folks! Hand the teller your bank card. Hand the teller your cheques (in Euros! With commas instead of decimals! Ho-ho, what fun!). Ask politely to deposit these cheques into this account.

7. Watch her struggle with the currency conversion. Agree that no, the comma is not our country’s common delineating punctuation w/r/t which is the dollar and which is the cent. Yes, how very strange indeed.

8. The game is almost complete, wait for it…

9. Sign the deposit slip, noting nothing amiss, since no one in their right mind memorizes their account numbers and since deposit slips show only amount deposited and not total balance, and…

10. You did it! You won! Through no doing of your own, and after having signed your acknowledgement of the deposit of said funds into said account, watch in delight as the teller realizes she SOMEHOW PUT YOUR CHEQUES INTO THAT LAST CUSTOMER’S ACCOUNT! Whoo! Exhilarating!

You’ve won! You’ve confused the teller! You have to share the points with the other customers since, let’s be honest, the game would have been lost without them, but between the three of you you played a good game out there. Keep your chin up, kid, it’ll only take another ten minutes to straighten out. And sure, you’ll lose another smidgen of your somewhat depleted trust in the banking system, but hey! Everything’s fun if you play the game right.

I Love the Nightlife

I’m on nights again! I haven’t worked this shift in a year, maybe two, and I’d forgotten how good it was.

The work bit…well, I don’t talk about work here. Use your imagination for that part.

But the rest of it is magic. I’m at my best late at night, when everyone sensible is tucked into their beds asleep. The roads on my way home are empty, my street is dark, and I have the run of the house. I’m full of energy at night: something about the dark brings out my best and before you know it I’m cleaning the whole house. I’ve knit a ton, I’ve fleshed out a story, I’ve reworked our budget.

I feel great.

Maybe all those vampire stories had something to them. Maybe it’s not the blood that had those creatures slinking out into the darkness, but the darkness itself that made them thrive. There’s just a different feeling about the world at 3 AM that you can’t find anywhere else. I’ve missed it, but I’m so glad to be back.

I Haven’t Done a Damned Thing Today

I helped my brother- and sister-in-law move house yesterday. It wasn’t a big move, in the grand scheme of things: they only moved about ten minutes away from where they had been living. But even then the heat, my lack of sleep the night before, and the general chaos that comes from moving added together until all I wanted was my own home and my own bed.

I stayed up until about 11, trying valiantly to at least read before bed, but I crashed. Tomorrow, I reasoned, I will get caught up on life.

Cue tomorrow, which was today, and I did…nothing.

I slept until two by mistake; I meant to get up at nine. I think my body was playing catch-up. I woke with a bitch of a headache. I stared at the internet for a while, I stared at the tv. I wanted to work on my sweater, on my writing. I meant to polish a new story today. It didn’t happen. Nothing happened. I spent the day in a sleep-hangover(sleepover?)-induced fog.

I guess it’s not a bad thing to waste a day here and there. But I’m not that person. I’m not happy unless I’m creating, or making, or learning. So today was a write-off, and now I’m grumpy.

I think I’ve forgotten how to relax.

What I Did This Weekend

I made some satisfying progress my continuing struggle to be an organized person this weekend.

Friday:
– took back library books, early
– finally upgraded my credit card to one with better benefits
– FINALLY changed my name at the bank (after being married a year this past May)
– scheduled another banking appointment to set up some new investments (holy shit! I’m a grownup!)

Saturday:
– bought more storage/organization bins and, y’know, actually used them for their intended purposes
– stocked up on sale pharmacy items AND took advantage of a one-day-only deal for store points

Sunday:
– got up early, bought and assembled a laundry-sorting hamper
– revised my daily to-do’s for this shift
– customized our Quicken program

I feel pretty good about things right now. I didn’t manage to get any writing done, but now that some of these niggling tasks are dealt with I feel like I can get further ahead this week than usual.

For The Millionth Time: We Are Not Having Kids

I don’t see why it’s so difficult for people to understand. We’re not having kids. Period.

If you have kids, that’s great. Honestly. I know tone doesn’t always translate well on the internet, and for that I’m sorry, but believe me when I say that if you’ve always wanted children, you should have them. Enjoy them.

I’m not anti-kid. I have two nephews that I love like crazy, and any future nieces and nephews will also be welcomed with open arms and spoiled rotten. But enjoying kids is not the same as wanting your own.

I know most people mean well. They cherish their own kids, and find fulfillment and purpose in raising them. It saddens them that I’m “missing out”. I appreciate the concern.

Where it gets frustrating is when a simple “nope, not for us” goes unheeded. I’m a woman in my thirties. I’ve had lots and lots of time to think this over, and being female I’ve had lots of heavy encouragement to jump on the parent-wagon. I’ve been in a straight relationship for years; it’s not like we couldn’t have tried for kids, had we wanted them. The simple fact is that we’ve made our decision, and prodding us is irritating, not influential.

Flip it for a second: what would it be like if, instead of congratulating you on your pregnancy, I raised an eyebrow and said, “But what if you change your mind?”

I realize parenting is hard work. I know that parents make sacrifices in order to give the best to their children. If bowing out makes me selfish, then so be it. But my life, our life together, is just plain built differently. We have different goals and ambitions, and enjoy spending our time differently. We have different expectations for the future. We find satisfaction and contentment in other places.

If I wouldn’t force my life on you, why force yours on me?