Yo Bank Of America – YEAH I’m talking to you!

I ran into a snag at the bank the other day.

Actually the snag began in my wallet. There wasn’t enough money there. Actually there was none. Therein lay the Snag. But it quickly devolved into a systemic snag that threatened the existence of my entire personal banking system.

Trouble was: Rent. I mentioned a couple posts back that after I paid rent this month I would have no money for food. That was true. People who know me well know that when I say “I’m broke” well – I’m not fucking around. Broke to me does not mean I have only such-&-such small amount of cash laying about.

When I say I’m Broke it means that my ass is so broke it’s about to fall off.

That’s how it was after I paid rent last week. Now. My housemate/landlord is a cool enough cat; I could have shorted him $25 on the rent & paid it next week. But rent paid on time – longtime readers surely understand – is a matter of prickly importance to me. I don’t want to ask if I can be $25 short on the rent. I want to pay my rent In Full within days of when it’s due – and that’s that.

And that left me inadvertently short on the Basics. I had a grand total of $2 dollars in the bank. I needed $5 to ride the Metro; incontestably needed to get from Here to There and the charge was $5. I had $2. So I ran my debit card through the machine at the Metro station & VOILA!! The transaction was approved.

Well now. I thought to myself. If they’ll let me overdraw my checking account to buy a Metro ticket – if they’re into that kind of thing – well the fact was I was also short the $7 I needed for a pack of smokes. And come to think of it I was pretty hungry.

I went to 7-11 & bought smokes. Transaction Approved. Sandwich shop? Transaction Approved. It wasn’t exactly a Spending Spree. I dropped $26 bucks of money I did not have – money I knew for a fact did not have. A deliberate act to be sure. But I needed stuff I couldn’t afford & Bank of America let me buy it.

$26 grand total worth of Durable Goods.

Couple days later I looked online to check my account balance. Those $26 worth of purchases blossomed into a bank account that was suddenly $200 overdrawn. $200!! A $35 dollar fee was levied on each of the 3 overdrafts. Plus some random $10 dollar bullshit for a number of failed attempts by the bank to cover the overdrafts from my empty savings account. Does that even add up to $200? Bank of America says so. And as far as they are concerned that’s final.

I’d need to cough up the $200 to keep my bank account in good standing.

Begged the question: Why Bother?

My instinct was to go ahead & close my Bank Of America account & open another one at a different bank that would start me off with a zero balance. Why not?

Far as I was concerned I did not owe Bank Of America a damn thing. For what? Overdraft fees? Give me a fucking break.

Bank Of America recently bought Merrill Lynch. Fair enough. Banks buy each other. Trouble with that deal was that Bank Of America could not afford to buy Merrill Lynch. They did not have enough money in the bank.

They fucked up.

So…did Bank Of America get charged some gargantuan Overdraft Fee for initiating a transaction their ledger couldn’t cover?

Oh no.

When Bank Of America overdrew their account they were not penalized but instead rewarded with a $45 billion handout of taxpayer – and I now have a job so that is my – money. Well. Dontcha think I plain obviously needed a little Bailout cash when I was too broke to buy a subway ride, a pack of smokes & some food? Maybe from Bank Of America even – hell I would have gladly paid a few pennies in interest — all in the spirit of thawing the credit markets & getting the world’s economy moving again.

But no.

I held on to my uncashed paycheck for a few days trying to decide what to do. On the one hand I felt no moral obligation to cover my electronic debt with Bank Of America. I wished more than once in fact that I’d bought a carton of cigarettes & maybe a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon while I was at it. Why not? You don’t want to just burn a major financial institution – you wanna burn them with a little bit of Style.

On the other hand: Until very recently I had never paid a bill in my life. And there were times when that hurt me. For example: I could be a triple PhD by now were it not for the fact that I defaulted on my student loan back in 1994. Until it is paid I can not go to college; a waste of my considerable talents.

I wrestled with these quandaries. In the end though my decision was based on pure laziness; I did not care to bother with the rigmarole of opening a new bank account. It was easier — though it offended all my best instincts — to just go on & deposit my $350 paycheck & take the $200 bite.

And exact my revenge right here on this blog, for all the world to see – by telling Bank Of America to fuck off.

Yo Bank Of America: Fuck Off!

Yeah. That oughta learn ‘em!

A Town With No Bar

Sounds kinda like a bad horror movie don’t it?

Well that’s where I live.

The town is called Takoma Park, Maryland. It’s not a bad town I suppose — but Bad is a relative term when it comes to describing towns around here.

Let me tell you: There are some bad suburban towns strewn about our nation’s capitol. I work part-time in one of them; in a town called Gaithersburg. I know the town is called Gaithersburg because the bus I ride there goes under a highway overpass with a big sign hung on it that says Welcome To Gaithersburg. Otherwise there would be no way to know whether I worked in Gaithersburg, or neighboring Durwood, or neighboring Germantown. They look exactly the same. One long strip mall gone off in all 4 directions for endless miles. Where the strip malls end the endless rows of McMansions begin; endless rows of McMansions broken only by the occasional abandoned field full of half built mcMansions.

And then another half-out of business strip mall.

I call that part of Maryland the McWasteland.

Takoma Park is a bit better. It is DC’s original bedroom community, built back when it was fashionable for every house in a neighborhood to not look the same. My house is one mile from the DC city line. A 20-minute walk to the Metro. From there it’s 10 minutes to Union Station — a 10-minute walk from there to the US Capitol.

I live in a well-located spot.

The town has an enlightened element. There is a food co op; an independently owned coffee shop (no Starbucks); and until very recently a slew of “Impeach Them Both!” signs propped up on many front lawns.

While Takoma Park is charged leftward politically, it is far from proletariat. No working class heroes where I live — only me.

I was at a Phil Lesh concert last fall. Chatting it up over beer with some dude during set break, talking about the old days. Dude asked me where I lived.

“Takoma Park.” I answered.

“Oh.” My new friend rolled his eyes & goes, “Well la te fucking dah!”

Takoma Park, it turns out, is a notoriously well heeled community.

Consider that 3 houses on my street went up for sale in the past few months; the worst few months to sell a home since the Great Depression. Yet all 3 sold within weeks for the asking price. Housing bust? Recession? Shit — I build houses in Takoma Park for a living.

The town has its’ attributes, however flimsy. Fuck it. I live here now. Done worse; a thought which rarely escapes me.

But where is a jerk like me supposed to go after work for a drink?

Well. Why not pop into the Local, as it were, whatever bar is closest? Like I used to do back home. Even though I was homeless there half my life…it’ll always be Back Home to me. Or not? Well. They say you Can’t Go Home Again. Maybe so? But you can always go to the Bar.

Tell you a story about that Bar back home.

Once on Saturday afternoon years ago I rustled up a couple cute chicks to bring to the Bar with me. It was too early to drink, they complained, but I peer pressured them with great of skill & ease & waltzed into the Bar thus accompanied.

The bartender’s name was Saturday Steve. Sat. Steve has worked at the Bar every Saturday I think since the advent of liquor.

Saturday Steve at the Bar is a Friend Of Mine; best bartender west of Pluto.

“Ladies!” He exclaimed.

We sauntered to the bar.  Sattty Steve added, with smart-ass nonchalance,   “Um hey, ah,” He stammers & feigns like he can barely remember my name, “Oh right — Mike E — didn’t even see you come in.”

“You lie.” I demanded. “You looked straight at me & what you saw made you fall down!”

Steve grinned widely.

“You got it like that some days Mike E.”

You know right at that moment — yeah hay. It was good to be Mike E.

Saturday Steve pointed one finger skyward & shot up his eyebrow inquisitively.

Then Saturday Steve pointed his finger down.

Thus he posed the Question. Had I pointed down in response he would have cheerily poured me a beer.

I half-shrugged my shoulder. Disinterestedly strained one eye & grimaced slightly.

Eh.

Steve smiled luciferally & pointed his finger up again.

Oh Yeah? He wanted to know.

I pointed my own finger skyward & nodded buoyantly. Oh Yeah Buddy! I caught his eye & winked once with each of mine; one wink for each girl next to me.

I held up 3 fingers.

“3 Mike E Ritas it is!” Steve responded snappily.

He whipped them up in tequila-laced pint glasses & served us moments later. And though he knew I was doubtlessly penniless Satty Steve waved both my lady friends’ money away – as if to say don’t be ridiculous.

“These are on Mike e.”

Where else does that happen besides your hometown Bar?

Not around here. Takoma Park idiotically has no bar — this town sucks dog shit for breakfast.

Flimsy attributes obliterated. A town with no bar is like a stolen Cadillac convertible with no swimming pool to drive it into — senseless.

What kind of town has no bar? They are by law allowed to sell beer, wine & spirits here. A couple of food businesses do. But no business is dedicated solely to the craft of drunks & drink.

The free market system fails grimly yet again.

I’d ask: do these people not drink? But the question is stupid. Of course many of them — thousands — do. But where?

I’m required to leave this city of 20,000, where I live & work, and go find a bar in a neighboring town; where no one knows your name. It’s dehumanizing. AND metro service stops 2 hours before the bars close. That is downright inhumane.

And horrific for the local economy! A neighboring municipality pockets a nickel coin every time a Takoma Park resident buys beverages at one of their bars. In a moderately busy bar those nickels could bloom  into a yearly quarter-mil shoveled into town coffers. Booze is recession resistant. Bars employ people. Stimulate the freaking economy. HELLO??

Even a Sober Person could see that — and Sober People are stupid!

But this thing runs deeper than economics. It’s a human thing.  Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name! Somewhere faithful & FUN & forgiving & above all close to home. It is our reward; to fill our highest human need for Community; exercise our constitutionally enshrined Right to Pursue  Happiness;  for freedom’s sake Let Freedom Ring..

Pop in for a few after work! Do it for God & Country. Never forget that Our Forefathers fought & died for  our right to have a neighborhood bar.

Viva the Troops!

Viva!!

And if Takoma Park will not honor their sacrifice by opening a bar, well…

See ya!!

The town is uninhabitable. Now if I could only afford to leave…