In which Smoog's loathing of Christmas is further reinforced
I received a sweet Christmas bonus from Alien Bossman.
come hither - back off
Great news, right?
First of all, the Alien post-dates the fucker for December 31. Thanks, thanks a lot. I can wait. Sure I can. It's not as if people have things to buy before Christmas or anything. It's not as if I just deposited $125,000 of cheques into the same company account from which that bonus comes from and know damn well the Alien has the cash to cover it, any other bonus, and every Christmas present for every one of his family members and friends. I completely understand why he would do such thing.
Just give me a minute while I try to think of what that reason might be.
In order to work around such an inconvenience, I went to Money Mart and cashed it anyway. OK, one doesn't really cash a post-dated cheque at Money Mart - it's more a case of Money Mart giving me a short-term loan and taking the post-dated cheque as collateral. Sure, there was a small fee, but at least the bulk of the money is now mine, right?
Somehow, between the building that houses Money Mart and the building that houses the bank machine into which I deposited the aforementioned bonus, somehow after counting the bills very carefully at said bank machine, somehow between the money being counted and the money being put into the envelope seconds later, $200 of that money was sucked into a vortex of my creation in order to defraud the bank.
Of course that's what happened. The bank says so. Would a bank lie? Oh goodness no. Would a bank make a mistake? Blasphemy! Of course it must have been me who fucked up. It's not as if I needed the money or anything. It's not as if I'm now overdrawn because I had paid bills based on an assumed bank balance that doesn't actually exist anymore. It's not as if I have to do something like, oh, cash a post-dated cheque at Money Mart in order to get by. It's not as if the bank rakes in many billions of dollars in net profit every year. Those $200 matter! That's enough for the bank to . . . to . . . um . . . blow the noses of every top manager in the City of Edmonton. It's obvious I'm just trying to pull a fast one on them, being a bitter poor person. Everyone knows bitter poor people have no scruples. Bitter poor people are just the type of people to carry mysterious vortices around with them to a bank and magically defraud a major financial institution.
Hey, that's what the bank says. If the bank says it, then it must be so. Sure, I disagree. So what? In a battle between a bank and a Smoog, who do you think will come out on top? Not even my scathing wit and fabulous personality can beat a bank.
Subsequently following the mysterious vortex of bank balances incident, I realized I now have no money for anything for the next week. No food, no alcohol, no bus fare. Nada. The office is now closed until January 3, I have the next week completely free, and I will be doing - absolutely nothing.
Nothing except, perhaps, losing weight in dramatic fashion. Or eating cat food. Or cats.
I want to kill someone.
Preferably a financial officer of some kind.
But really, anyone will do.
Heeeere, kitty kitty kitty.
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