I know I'm easily annoyed, but shit's annoying. My new job is going well in the sense that I get paid, but not so well otherwise. I'm sure it isn't a good sign when less than two months after your first day you dread the place.
Today after the too long drive home but tolerable traffic, I stopped by the bank to deposit my paycheck. How do I do it? How am I able to spot the asshole every time? It's a talent, and it never fails. I pulled up to what I just knew would be the fastest moving lane only to sit behind some ding-dong who couldn't decipher her deposit receipt for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! Here's how long I was there: I drove up to the front of the bank and noticed a young girl in the driver's seat of a parked Ford Falcon. I thought that was kind of a cool car for a young girl to have and for a minute thought of my cousin, who drove my Dad's old Mustang when she was in High School. Then I pulled around to the back of the bank to enter the drive-thru. While sitting behind the dimwit in the Kia with the "Keep Austin Weird" bumper sticker, I noticed the girl in the Falcon again. She had the door ajar, and her left leg was hanging out. She was text messaging, and, apparently, waiting. We were all waiting. Minutes later a tow-truck arrived--one of the downfalls of driving a cool old car: they rarely work--and she got out and met with the driver. They chatted, pushed her car a bit so that it lined up with the back of the truck. He affixed the necessary chains and whatnot to the underside of her car, she steered it safely onto the bed of the tow-truck. She rifled through her backpack for a check to pay the man. They chatted a bit more. She left. He left. And I'm still in the god-damn drive-thru! I could see part of the perpetually pokey woman's face in her side view mirror. She was wearing glasses with a chain attached, and they had a tiny bit of the cat-eye. Only, she wasn't 80 years old. Whatever the hell you call that canister that you put your business in came down the tube and I thought "Oh my god! Here we go. Finally!" But no, she sent something else up the tube! I was at a loss. I didn't wanna honk, but had to do something. I rolled down my window and shouted "C'mon!" No response. "What the fuck?!" Nothing. Finally, she got her shit together and rolled, yes rolled out. "Hit the gas bitch!"
Ugh. I really should have more patience, I know. I think though, at least this instance was legitimately more trying than most of the stuff that wears me out. Like when I'm texting and I'm trying to type "Food" and my phone suggests "Dood". Or when it wants to capitalize random words.
Here's one last thing that really annoys me that I just thought of and must share: Although this doesn't happen frequently, I have had the occasion to pay for my goods and wares with a hundred dollar bill. And, occasionally, some wise-ass cashier will feel it necessary to get out their magic pen and scribble on the currency in order to make sure the bill isn't counterfeit. Are you joking with me? Put your fucking pen away and put my money in the till before I lose it!
I've got to get a hold of one of those pens. I can't wait for the day I hand over a large bill and have it scrutinized. And then, when my change comes back--tens and twenties even--out comes the pen. Now, lets just see how clean your money is, Mr. Tom Thumb!
