On-line banking. What a great way to ruin your day. It took a few seconds for the numbers to register. Something was wrong. No way did I have that much in Checking…and why were the numbers red?

They were negative numbers. A big, fat overdraft problem was staring at me from the screen that only moments before had seemed so friendly. I promptly went into denial. How could this be? Who withdrew that huge chunk from the account without my knowledge?! I peered closer, as if doing so would make some kind of difference. Nope. The combination of letters and numbers said nothing about the thief of my hard-earned balance. After staring a few more seconds, I realized they were actually a phone number. Oh-ho, were they ever going to hear it from me!

That one withdrawal had caused six other items to go into overdraft – I’d been charged thirty-four dollars for each one…holy crap. I gave vent to a bellow of rage, scaring the living daylights out of the dog. The responsible party wasn’t just going to replace that money, by God, but would pay my overdraft fees as well! All I needed was my cell phone.

Right.

I should have known the day was going to head south when I dropped my jam-covered toast face-down into the dog’s water bowl earlier. Then a kamikaze fly ended its tiny life by flying straight into my cup of coffee a few seconds later. Nice. I had to take my shower and be ready to give a music lesson in fewer than fifteen minutes; my husband would be back momentarily from the store demanding that I vacate the kitchen so he could feed the dog (the man couldn’t function properly if he had more than one thing to think about, and my doing things in the kitchen was one thing too many); I had to be at my job in under two hours; my clothes were still tumbling around lazily in the dryer, refusing to get past “damp;” and I didn’t know if I had enough gas in the car.

I closed my laptop, stomped off into the bathroom, showered, came out to realize my student was late (thank goodness), got dressed in a slightly moist outfit, and groaned as I heard the car pulling into the driveway. Breakfast, needless to say, was forgotten. As was the location of my phone. I’d already made a half-hearted attempt to locate it while doing those other things, but no matter. I would simply ask hubby to call it…wait. I’d turned the ringer off because I was tired of early morning calls from rabid call-center employees. Hell.

I knew better than to ask what else could possibly go wrong. You know what I mean, don’t you! Sure – you ask that stupid question and the next thing you know, you find out you’re really an infection on the skin of a gigantic cosmic manatee floating serenely in space and it’s been casually trying to wipe you out….

Wow. Sorry. That’s what I get for internalizing.

My student finally showed up, the dog got fed; I made an early lunch for the spouse so he wouldn’t starve to death in my absence, and headed off to work – forgetting to take my own lunch with me. So I decided to buy something – or not. My bank account was overdrawn. I had, however, found my phone. How it got into the freezer was beyond me…

It was going to be a long day filled with hunger and, I soon discovered, every light turning red as soon as I got within a few yards of it. When I got to work, I found the boss’ niece sitting at my desk, having commandeered my computer for…something. I couldn’t exactly complain, either. I mean, he was out of town and she was his niece. What could I do? Glare? Probably not a good idea, so I greeted her with an Academy Award-winning smile and slunk off to do some filing instead.

Did I mention I was hungry? By late afternoon, I found myself wondering what manila folders would taste like if I added a bit of salt. When I got my paycheck, I thought it might cover the overages in my account, but another charge had been made. So while most of the overdraft was handled, I still had a negative balance. Then I remembered that number and called it.

Cosmetics. That’s what did it. A skin serum that was free except for shipping and handling. It wasn’t. After eighteen days, if I didn’t return the little bottle of slime, I’d have to pay $74.25 for another! Worse, I recalled seeing no such warning in any

sized print.

“We’re going to hell in a handbasket,” I muttered. Really?

my mind piped up. Why a handbasket? Is that the only mode of transportation available for this downward trip?

“Excuse me?” asked the customer service rep.

“Nothing.” I asked for a manager, who very nicely explained that they weren’t responsible if another site advertised their products, but neglected to include the conditions of the sale.

If I were still in my twenties…well, if I were still in my twenties, I wouldn’t be ordering skin serum that’s supposed to make me look like I’m in my twenties. Regardless, as I get older, as my skin slips quietly into tiny, annoying folds all over my face, I have to wonder when it will all stop. When will the kids stop doing things that give me a season-pass for Heart-Attack Central? When will my husband stop doing things that make me question my decision not

to become a nun? And when will I stop asking questions that sound like a come-on for a soap opera plot?

In the meantime, while waiting for my hair to finish turning gray, maybe I’ll try the philosophical approach to days like this. I have one, very un-philosophical question, though. Do they make “Grecian Formula” for women, too?

Impressum

Texte: Judith A. Colella
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 24.10.2012

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