Time Conundrum
I have to get out of here so I can get done so I can get back and get going and finish before I have to go and get started.
Parked
Don’t you love it when you’ve parallel parked and the cars in front and behind you have each left your car two inches to maneuver? Saw a man assessing that as he arrived at his car today, and felt his frustration.
And Another Thing
Someone asked me if I could tell them where there’s an “ATM machine” nearby.
WTF? Really? What do you think that M in ATM stands for? Money?
That kicked in a memory stream. I remember when ATMs first came out.
Yes, I am that old, children.
(I also remember when cable sprawl began, and when we started having color televisions, microwaves, and all the kinds of satellite things we now have. Get over it.)
We thought ATMs were great. Before them, you had to park, go inside, get in line, and take care of business, or drive into a line, if there were drive-through tellers, wait, and take care of business. Whichever option you chose, waiting was involved.
There was a forty dollar limit on what we could withdraw from ATMs back then. Forty dollars was a lot more money in that era. A tank of gas cost me less than ten, or maybe just over ten, dollars. Coffee – hello? – was a dollar a cup. Believe it, children.
Banks touted ATMs as a wonderful invention. It would save them so much money, and they would pass all those savings on to you through increased interest rates on your accounts and certificates of deposit. You could get your money from any ATM. Isn’t that great? Yes, it was wonderful!
Then, the banks and credit unions started complaining about the unanticipated costs. There were lines at the ATMs because there were longer lines in the bank, because they’d cut back on tellers to reduce overhead. The number of ATM transactions started to be capped. Going over that number meant you’d be penalized.
Then came the networks. Networks were formed to share the costs and reduce the burdens – for the financial institutions. What it meant for you was that if an ATM wasn’t in your network, you’d be charged for the luxury of using that machine to access your money. Piss me off?
You betcha. We were always wandering around towns, looking for ATMs and asking, “Is that one in our network?” Everyone had their eyes peeled for ATMs, crying out, “There’s one!” Then we’d aim the car that way. Yes, children, this was before ATMs came to be in other businesses, or stores. This was also before debit cards.
The ATMs typically had a list of networks that the institution belonged to. You’d need to figure out if one of those networks included your institution. If you couldn’t find one, you could be charged, with good ol’ Bank of America (who else, right?) leading the way in outrageous fees. Eventually, the banks and credit unions were forced to warn you if you were going to be charged, and accept that fee before going on.
Of course, the reverse of this was not having ATMs, but depending on your bank and credit union by writing checks, or going in, standing in the lobby for a while, and withdrawing some funds. That wasn’t fun, either.
So, even with my complaints (I am Michael, hear me complain), the ATMs are a lot better than the way it was. Just remember to heed the unspoken warning, “User beware.”
Choices
You ever face a challenge to your desires, you know, like sitting down and privately writing (i.e., indulging in the fantasies and stories populating (or polluting) your mind) and face up to something that forces you to think, “Okay, I have to do the right thing and do this?”
Yes, it’s not really win-win. You’ve helped someone else, which is good, but you’re resentful of the encroachment on your priorities and plans. Then, you know, you go through that whole thinking process about what happened, what you did, and the interruption.
Well, maybe it’s just me. I frustrate myself with my choices. I guess it’s just a moral imperative that was planted too long ago to ignore.
Thursday’s Theme Music
Today’s theme song, “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” began streaming into me as felines catgregated around me wherever I went. The lyrics are repetitive – “I want you, I want you so bad” (perfect lyrics for the cats as they follow, waiting for me to sit so they can sit on my feet or jump on my lap) – but I enjoy the song’s tempo changes and the variations on how “I want you” is sung.
Floof mob
Floof mob (catfinition) – a clowder of cats summoned by a sound or movement to a designated location to perform an indicated action before dispersing.
In use: “As soon as the can’s lid was pulled back, a talkative floof-mob encircled his legs, with each putting forward their reasons for why they should be fed first.”
Dangerous!
I like to go down stairs as fast as I can, like I’m a little kid. Doing this the other day, I startled two elderly women as they came around the corner to go up the steps. Apologizing, I explained what I was doing.
“Oh,” one said, and I moved on. As I did, I heard her companion say, “What’d he say?” Then I heard a brief exchange, and one said, “That’s so dangerous.”
Yes, that’s me, Dangerous Michael.
The Men At The March
I was at the March for Our Lives event in Medford, Oregon, with about a thousand others yesterday, when I spied a Pittsburgh Steelers hat on a tall individual. It was a crowded space, but eventually, finding him beside me, I said, “Hey, a Steelers fan,” because so am I. Laughing, he pointed at my USAF Retired hat. “And you’re retired from the Air Force,” he said. “Like my Dad.”
His father had retired from the Air Force and moved back to Pittsburgh, PA. We chatted and uncovered that we’d lived in the same Pittsburgh neighborhoods decades ago. He was fifteen years younger than me, but we’d attended the same schools, including Turner Elementary School on Laketon Road in Wilkinsburg. Like me, he’d followed a convoluted path to reach Oregon. My last stop before Oregon was Half Moon Bay, California, and his last stop was Madison, Wisconsin. He’d only been in Oregon three years. As a military brat, he was familiar with the places where I’d been assigned, and I knew his locations.
Besides politics, we talked about the changes back in the Pittsburgh area, and the Google location there, which we’d both visited. Six degrees of separation, small world, et cetera. He was like a familiar face in the crowd, to finish the cliche trifecta.