Snob

I'm so grateful for the times that my mouth is capable of holding back the flood of verbal diarrhea...or at least the very few times.

For instance, this evening on the subway a woman sat beside me reading NY Times articles printed from the web. (Of course, to save a few bucks, I do the same thing all the time. Plus, it saves my fingers from newspaper ink, which is a huge pet peeve for me.)

However, instead of thinking, "Ah, good for her. A smart woman who prints her articles from the web to save a few bucks," my mind immediately noticed that the printouts had all the extraneous web frames around the articles, which indicates that she uses 1/3 more paper than necessary because she didn't utilize the "print" feature that extracts all the miscellany around the articles and expands the margins. I screamed inside my head, "idiot!!!"

Somehow I held back my frustration with this stranger, though I was very, very close to leaning towards her and pointing to the little printer icon to say, "You know, there's a print function on the site. (finger point) Your 850-word article really doesn't need 5 sheets of paper. Just so you know."

Bank idiot, Part 2

Ok, so I now know that when you have a $100 bill to deposit and you want to withdraw $30, you only need to write $70 on the deposit slip.

This time I have a check for $67 and I want to withdraw $20. Do the same rules apply? Or do I have to write out a deposit slip for $67 and a withdrawal slip for $20? Why is this so complicated for me?

This is what I was contemplating all morning during my commute in to work since I planned to stop by the bank before going into the office. To avoid another painfully embarassing scene, I decided that my safest bet would be to get $20 from the ATM machine and then deposit the check with the teller.

Agreed, not the most efficient way to conduct myself, but I couldn't bear any more humiliation.

Fuck. I'm in the yellow.

So, back in October '05 when I had the worst asthma attack of my life and poor hugguhbear had to rush me to the emergency room (where I didn't have to wait a second before they threw me on a bed and stuck a tube in my mouth), I was given a couple of newfangled gadgets to help me prevent that from ever happening again.

One is a peak flow meter and, when I blow into it, it tells me what my current maximum ability is to expel air from my lungs. There's a green, yellow, and red zone, which is basically self explanatory. I'm supposed to be in the green. If I get into the yellow, something's wrong. If I'm in the red, I need to go to the hospital.

So, tonight, I find myself laboring to breathe and I'm in the yellow. The low yellow. The yellow part that's painfully close to the red.

I really don't want to go to the hospital. Aside from the fact that I haven't shaved my legs in weeks, and it's effing cold outside, emergency rooms are so damn expensive. It's a $100 copay, and then if they can't control my breathing, they'll admit me and then that's at least $1500 a day. I just can't afford that. Not when I'm saving for my wedding and trying so hard not to buy pretty things.

Yes, I know I'm being ridiculous. I'm hours away from a full-on asthma attack and I'm blogging about how expensive emergency rooms are and how much that sucks because that will prevent me from paying the cake cutting fee at the reception hall and buying a pretty bag.

Perhaps the lack of oxygen in my brain is causing impaired judgement.

Bank idiot

In my defense, I was never allowed to withdraw money from my savings account as a child. Only deposits. Every dollar gained by a birthday, graduation, Christmas, First Communion, and Confirmation went straight to the bank.

Then when I got my first job at a department store, my mom made my deposits and withdrawals for me because I was never able to get to a bank in time. I was always too early or too late.

When I went to college, I only dealt with the ATM on the campus.

So, you see, I have no experience with withdrawing money from an actual bank teller. Not until today.

I have a $100 bill (it's a long, long story, but suffice it to say that I am not a part of the mob, so I normally never have this kind of currency). I decided to deposit it and withdraw $30. I thought that I wouldn't be able to just deposit $70 and get $30 as change--because I'm still 4 years old and don't know how these things work--so I walk up to the bank teller (excuse me, customer sales representative) with a deposit slip for $100 and a withdrawal slip for $30. And this is where things get beyond embarassing.

Teller: Hello. [looks at the slips of paper and money] Wait. Why do you want to deposit $100 and withdraw $30? Why don't you just deposit $70 and I'll give you $30 back in change.

Me: Oh. I didn't know I could do that. I thought that because it was a $100 bill, I couldn't break it. [turning red]

Teller: Oh, no, you can do that. Here, I'll just change this on the slip to $70.

Me: [taking my ID out of my wallet] Do you need this for a withdrawal?

Teller: Aww, that's so cute. No, you don't need it because you're depositing cash.

Me: [turning the shade of red lipstick that only hookers use] Ok.

Teller: Are you off from school today? (*Note: the time is 8:25am, so it's likely that she's referring to high school, NOT college.)

Me: Huh? Umm, I'm going to work.

Teller: Really? Where do you work?

Me: [insert name of big company here]

Teller: Oh. [silence] Gee, it's really cold out there, huh?

Basically, she assumed that I was a cute, inexperienced teenager who didn't know how banks work. Not a professional, working adult who--because of technology and working crazy schedules--is unfamiliar with the standard operation procedures (SOP, to you corporate folk) of a bank.

How am I ever going to get promoted at work, move ahead in life, succeed, or anything else if I've looked like I was 15 for the last 9 freaking years?? Sigh and double sigh.