Pittsburgh bound

Quote of the day: “There is no escape but death, which is probably imminent afterward but doesn’t solve our problem in the interim.” — Shannon, when I asked how we can escape the Veggie Patch Holiday Potluck on Dec. 12.

Leaving for Pittsburgh first thing in the a.m. with Shawn and two four-pawed creatures who hate car trips. Shawn has offered to chauffeur, and I accept that willingly. Holiday drivers are worse than normal drivers, surprisingly (and here, I just thought everyone was nuts on the highways — they were a special brand of insane today).

I went to the print shop at 7ish tonight — normally, they call around 10 a.m. And most of the pages weren’t even ready to be viewed yet. And of course, it figures that there were errors on the 28-page special section — nothing on our end, just a gradient screen on each page that disappeared. It happens all the time; the pressman tonight said he couldn’t fix it, but I told him my regular guy had better will know what to do.

One thing I am looking forward to, being in Pennsylvania, will be being waited on by people who speak English. Apparently, having your cashier/neighbor/server/bank teller being able to effectively communicate with you is overrated. Shit, I went to SunTrust today to get a cashier’s check for my rent (so I don’t bounce yet another fucking check), and she was all bada-badaing all over the place. I actually had to ask her to write down what the fuck she was saying — maybe it was her accent that was throwing me off. But no, she wrote some type of Sanskrit or Esperanto or something, and I was lost.

And I’m already at the end of my rope as far as nerves and patience go. What she was trying to communicate, I figured out eventually, was that there is an $8 service fee for the cashier’s check. I said fine. So she tries to re-explain it. I said, “Hey look, I am well aware that the SunTrust empire charges me for every damn thing I need from it. Between your ridiculously high charges for Insufficient Funds, which I am altogether too familiar with, I am willing to accept this $8 charge to hand me a piece of paper … not that I am thrilled about it, mind you.” (Erica will be glad to tell you about her similar opinion on NSF charges!)

So Bank Lady bada-badaed under her breath and kept on typing. I handed her my driver’s license so she could spell my name correctly on the check, and then she asked if the name on the driver’s license was the one that should appear on the check. *sigh* Not that I understood her the first three times she inquired.

People in Pittsburgh may have their own lazy, fucked-up dialect, but I look forward to being UNDERSTOOD and serviced in a timely manner. Factoring out the fact that I was in line forever, the teller transaction that cost me $8 lasted a good 20 minutes. Shouldn’t, though, they pay ME for my time?!?!

Mom and I already had our first tiff of the holiday season on the phone today, so it’s looking like Thanksgiving is off to its usual running start. What was the argument about? She asked what kind of wine/pop/whatever I want to drink, and I said, “It doesn’t matter.” So she asked me why I can never make things easy on her, and I told her that I will drink whatever she fucking puts in front of me.

Our relationship is really good, actually. It’s just holidays that bring out the very worst in us. I am just hoping that this isn’t a rushed trip — that we actually have time to hang out and enjoy each other. Because the second a schedule is involved, tensions shoot up to the moon (on both of our parts).


At any rate, Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good shit afterward so you have room for turkey sandwiches later on in the evening! Or, if you’re like Shawn and me, be cleaned out so that you can go out drinking to forget about your holiday. Pegasus, here we come!!!

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