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occasionally, despite evidence to the contrary, i have to count myself one lucky bastard. somewhere en route to Indiana two weeks ago, just having crossed into Kentucky, i mistakenly hit the "credit sale" button on the fuel pump during a gas stop. unfazed, i dug into my wallet for the plastic, usually in it's customary pocket... and it was not to be found. oh, fuckity-fuck. the nightmare scenario. i just knew it would all maxed out at the methadone clinic. or the dollar store. or for a Russian escort service. nevertheless, i didn't panic... rather, a zen feeling of calm washed over me. as if i resigned my plight to the fates. not that i didn't rush to the nearest web access to see if anything had been rung up. so it went, debating closing out the account, but never seeing the balance change. it couldn't have got far, or into the wrong hands. after the trip was over, i savagely combed through all of the obvious places at home, work, and ride. nada. today, i had this brainstorm. when was the last time i remember using it? why, at the Cathedral of Cheap Plastic Crap, when i bought the SmartMediacard that failed (in a recent update)! i never remember it being returned to me! sure enough, i retraced my steps back to the scene of the supposed crime, to the customer service line. after patiently waiting (behind the guy with a cane, with approximately fifty gold piercings festooned around each ear, and the same number through his nose, lips, and eyebrows... like Gonesh in polyester), i pled my case of forgetfulness to the grrl at the counter. she took my name and info and walked to this wooden box attached to the wall... it opened when she spoke to it, then she passed my note through the darkness within. moments later, the slot opened again. she dug out the deposit, and there was the little son-of-a-bitch. elated. relieved. complimentary. educated. shone upon by providence. as soon as i got to work, i immediately celebrated by ordering LadySnowblood. there seems to be a poetic connection with Bushido and not having your financial gonads cut off. |
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