Shit in the Bed

My momma told me today how proud she was that I, her son, had procured a bank account.
Now to many that statement may not sound strange at all. Matter of fact, on the face of it that statement is rather encouraging, a positive affirmation of personal outreach and growth. A human being a human being. A mother’s love. Way it should be.
But what say you when I let you in on the fact that the son in question is turning 50 years old in a matter of days?
Alas, the story she becomes more interesting, yes?
To say that I’ve ...uh, chosen a different path, walked to a different drummer, might not be too far from the mark. As a matter of fact, I took it a step further and became the drummer.
All throughout my life I’ve not harbored a problem calling a spade a spade. If it was shit, I screamed to the heavens its ungodly scent for all to hear. And the older I got the more I seemed to smell. So much so, I began to incrementally disengage myself from the system, as it stood.
This distrust began -I recall all too clearly- when dealing with a new and faceless all powerful, all reaching bank group that’d taken over my small, friendly, hometown bank. At once, overnight, as if someone had thrown a switch, the friendliness disappeared and was replaced by a condescending falcity. A sneering dip shit arrogance. This place fare you well reeked, I tell you!
Mysterious charges began to appear on each statement. Charges were sometimes levied but not communicated until the next statement. Overseas banks whose checks I received from time to time were suddenly “held” for a week at a time, all without my knowledge as I continued to write on these pieces of paper to grant me access to goods needed for maintainment of a lifestyle. And from time to time I would receive these ominously thin letters from the bank marked “Confidential”. These were not so subtle reminders that I was now horribly overdrawn with a $25 check charge for each bounced check, which further overdrew my account, and if the account was not satisfied within X amount of days my life would be rendered into a flaming pile of rotting flesh, screaming at the top of my lungs all the way to death’s door for any sort of mercy killing, yadayadayadayadayada.
One day, not sure which, but I simply had enough, withdrew all my money on the spot, and departed a fugitive from the banking system for the next 14 years.
It isn’t a path I’d recommend for ANYONE. Certainly not for the faint of heart or for anyone who gives even a smidgen of a rats ass about what someone may or may not think of you at any given moment in time. Oh no.
The explanations alone that had to be made so this simple servant could get hard cold cash when work was done was alone far too much for any humanus walkus erectus to bear.
And I now see how hard it is to be a Mexican and illegal. You will pay. And pay. And pay. And pay.
Just today -the brutal reminder of how savage and brain sucking this lifestyle can be- I took a check to a check cashing place that I also hold a debit card with, one that charges me to accept my money, then charges me every time I use the card, too. Lotsa charges. Everywhere. But manageable.
But anyway, I digress, I take this check to get cashed and the woman informs me that the charge for cashing this check is several hundred dollars.
Egads! Too high a price, even for a fugitive from the banking system.
I found myself at a crossroads.
Looking back on it being on the lam, living under the radar all those years felt good. I was making my statement. I found very creative ways to remain liquid and buoyant. The experience taught me a lot. Taught me to budget. Taught me the value of money.
But today, here I was, at the crossroads.
I placed calls to a coupla friends whom I thought could wash and rinse the check through their account. No problem.
But when I called, these people were busy.
So I pondered.
Is this God giving me a lesson again? But of course, I quickly and correctly deduced, a challenge to rise to the occasion, simplify my existence to properly make entrance through this new gateway to the promised land, a quest in which I currently find myself.
So, I gathered up my stuff and headed for home.
Whilst seated at my computer I opened Dashboard then I punched in a name of a smaller local bank into my nationwide yellow page widget. I got the number of one close by. I dialed the number. The fellow who answered was real friendly, told me their location was a mere two blocks from my home. I asked if his building was the old Victorian house on the corner. He said yes. I jumped in my pick-up and proceeded pell mell to this house in question.
There was a parking space right next to the front door. Good sign. Easy access to my abode, too. Very good. Imagine my surprise when I walked to the front door and saw this was indeed, NOT the bank I thought it to be. Not the one I’d called at all, but a larger, well known, megahumping California based competitor, instead. Fellow who answered that phone must’ve been confused as to just what constituted Victorian, I guess.
I almost turned tail, repulsed by why I thought laid in wait for me, to once again impale myself on the staff of capitalism at its worst. But something intrigued me about this old house, and I figured -again correctly, might I add- that maybe I’ve been lead here, given the unusual circumstances. Yeah, some of us still believe in that magic that constitutes life and the living of it.
So I proceeded inside and got right down to it.
A very pleasant gentleman named Rene handled my business with a cheerful professionalism, nothing like the condescending snarly bullshit I’d experienced my last trip to the bank.
Within minutes, not only did I have a bank account, one customized to fit my needs -no statement, no checks, online banking and debit card, no charges or changes whatsoever, no e-mail for updates and new offers- but I also got half in cash until my debit card arrives. Helluva deal. Ay caramba! What hath God wrought?!
Fourteen years ago I took leave after one too many days in a bed filled with shit. It was nice, albeit 14 years later, to find that someone came and cleaned the shit, leaving soft, exquisite linens in its place.
Maybe there is hope for this world after all.
I know this, I will continue to do my seventeen cents worth. I presume you will do the same, yes?
Yes, truly only a love a mother can give... a love that’s held me in good stead for all of these fifty magical years whilst fiercely clinging to this spinning chunk of carbon, struttin’ my stuff exactly as I’ve chosen ...and been lead. Natch.
I got one thing to say... Yeefuckinghaw!