My Bank of America Counter-Attack

I’ve never been all that fond of banks, but it’s clear that we have a basic need for them and, as such, I’ve been a customer of Bank of America for a number of years now. Yet, once in a while, their business practices kinda piss me off, particularly when it comes to overdraft fees and their need to put holds on large checks for several days more than what it would take to make a call to the bank from which the check came and confirm sufficient funds.

Yet, I’ve put up with this stuff for years prior to this most recent occurrence. In short, I filed jointly with my wife as usual. She and I agreed that she'd take last year's refund and that, this year, we'd split it 50/50. I already had the money in my account to cover half, so about a week or so before receiving the checks, I transferred half of our return to her account. Once the checks came in, we both agreed that I'd toss them into my account.

So, I deposited said tax refund checks into my personal checking account. The state check seemed to clear without issue, as did the federal check, although it took slightly longer for the federal check to clear. Yet, all funds were made available to me in a few short days and the funds remained intact for about eight days. Then, out of the blue, I had been made aware of a hold that was placed against my account when a supermarket purchase was denied authorization. I’d come to find out that some mysterious hold had been placed on my big federal check and that Bank of America had allowed four previous purchases to go through with a $35.00 overdraft fee accompanying each one.

I received letters in the mail about a week later to advise me of this, which as you can imagine is about as useful as receiving a parachute a week after you’ve hit the ground following a 25,000 foot skydive. I was pissed off.

Very pissed off.

And make no mistake about it – I resolved to walk into that bank and have it out with whomever had the misfortune of getting in my way. The account hold couldn’t have come at a worse time, too. I was hours away from taking a train to New York City with my 15 month old daughter and simply wasn’t going to have the time I was gonna need to deal with this bullsh*t, so I decided to have this fight after I returned to Boston. My wife lent me what little money she had to ensure that I’d have enough to keep my little one properly fed.

I got back the other day and arrived at my bank. And yes, I came to fight. I came to be belligerent and I had every intention to be sarcastic as hell whenever the mood hit me. Why? Because it's high time that somebody stepped up to these a$$wipes and lay into them for some of the devious tactics they employ to squeeze more money out of us to line their own pockets.

For simplicity’s sake, I decided to bring a pocket recorder so that I could transcribe the exact words of the bank manager as well as my own vicious words. And for anybody out there thinking to themselves that what I did was illegal, know this. It's only illegal if you plan on using the recording as evidence in court and you fail to advise the other party that you are recording their words. Not only did I have no intention on bringing this to court, but I erased the recording shortly after transcribing what you're about to read.

So, here’s how our battle of wits played itself out. If my words seem at all rehearsed, they absolutely were. I wanted to be ready to fire out a rapid response for every conceivable excuse with which I was bound to get hit. I literally wanted to have an answer for everything and I did my best to anticipate everything I was going to hear once I was inside. I mentally prepped myself for this confrontation during my time in New York, right at the point where my blood was at its boiling point. And if it’s not blatantly obvious, I’m playing the role of the Pissed Off Banker:

Bank Manager: “Sir, do you need help?”

Pissed Off Banker: “Yes. Yes I do.”

BM: “Okay, how can I help you?”

POB: “Well, a shade over ten thousand of my dollars has gone missing and I’d really like to have it back.”

BM: “Okay, well I can guarantee you that I didn’t take it.” (laughs)

POB: “Well, that’s a start. One down.”

BM: “And about nineteen million to go, right?” (laughs again)

POB: “Well, hopefully not.” (I pulled out my paperwork; a recent account history, plus a scanned copy of the government check I received for $10,386.00). “As you can see here, I deposited two checks into my account on March 10^th.”

BM: “Okay.”

POB: “By March 12^th, the funds appeared in my account and remained there for just over a week, leading me to believe that all was well. Here you will see the 57 transactions that followed which represent various purchases, automatic bill payment withdrawals and “Keep the Change” credits… all made subsequent to the checks having cleared.”

BM: “Um, hum.”

POB: “On March 20^th, the bank saw fit to put a hold on my government check for $10,386.00 which, as you can see, means taking the money out of my account and denying me access to it. Note the negative balance here. And here are four purchases I made after the hold was placed and right next to each purchase, you’ll see a nifty little $35.00 overdraft charge accompanying each transaction.”

BM: “Well, sir. What I’m showing….”

POB: “The fifth purchase was not authorized, which alerted me to the fact that there was a problem.”

BM: “Right, well what I’m showing on your account is that the hold on your account has been lifted as of this morning, so your money is now present, accounted for and ready to use.”

(I'd checked my account in the early morning hours of that day online and my account was still in the red, so seeing that the money was back in my account admittedly took a little bit of the wind out of my sails. But I wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.)

POB: “Well, that’s obviously good news and I’m thankful for that because now I can purchase petty contrivances like food and diapers for my infant daughter, but the fact that the bank’s business practices have caused a serious breach of trust is still unresolved, not to mention the overdraft fees that have yet to be refunded.”

BM: “Well, there’s not a lot I can do about the overdraft fees, but let me ask you a question.”

POB: “Well, then kindly fetch the bank manager for me.”

BM: (slightly annoyed) “Sir, I am the bank manager.”

POB: “Then we are unfortunately off to a very bad start because I know that there’s actually a LOT that a bank manager can do about overdraft fees, but… go ahead. Ask your question.”

BM: “Uh…. okay. This check that was put on hold, was it deposited through a teller or in an ATM machine?”

POB: “ATM.”

BM: “And was this a remote ATM location?”

POB: “Well, if you call that ATM machine over there remote, then yeah.” (I pointed to the ATM machine at the entrance of the bank). “I deposited my two refund checks about 30 feet from where we’re standing.”

BM: “And did you deposit these checks in a joint account or your own account?”

POB: “I deposited them in my own checking account.”

BM: “Well, that’s the problem because, as you can see, the check was made out to both you and your wife, so if she didn’t countersign it, either we or the feds could have put up the red flag.”

POB: “And that would make sense, except for the fact that I’ve been filing jointly with my wife now for four years, we’ve deposited checks in the same fashion for those years and this is the first time anything like this has ever happened.”

BM: “But sir. Any check that you deposit that is made out to two people needs to be signed by both parties.”

POB: “And that would also make sense, except for the fact that this check from the State is made out to the both of us and nothing’s happened to it.” (I showed her our state refund for $2,838.00).

BM: “Well….. let me see the check, please. Okay, this is under $10,000.00 so it probably went unnoticed.”

POB: “Oh, well that’s really comforting.”

BM: “Well, what I mean is that we can’t possibly look at every check that comes through this bank. We just don’t have the staff for it. So only checks with a dollar amount over a certain value ever get that second look.”

POB: “I find it interesting that so many businesses will use that “understaffed” excuse, yet there are tens of thousands of people in this state alone that are looking for jobs.”

BM: “Regardless of that, had your wife countersigned the check, there might not have been a hold put on the check in the first place.”

POB: “Might not have?”

BM: “In all likelihood, probably not.”

POB: “Well, I’m sure you can understand how I could be led under a false sense of security here, given the fact that, in four years, this is the first time this has happened.”

BM: “Only because the check is so big.”

POB: “And that would make sense as well, except for the fact that in our second year, I deposited a check even larger than this with only one signature and everything went off without a hitch.”

BM: “But we get complaints from both ends all the time. On the other side, we’ve had complaints from angry wives who were mad at us for allowing their husbands to cash checks that were made out to both of them.”

POB: “Yes, but you know as well as I do that those are domestic issues that are not your responsibility in the first place.”

BM: “But that’s what I’m trying to say. See, we’re gonna have arguments on both ends and we’re the bad guys no matter what.”

POB: “Fair enough.”

BM: “Now, if you have this daughter of yours, do you really want to risk gambling with your own money, especially if you need to buy food and diapers for her?”

POB: “I’m sorry. Gambling, did you say?”

BM: “Yes, you’re much better off just having checks of this nature countersigned.”

POB: “Well, I didn't realize that banking with Bank of America was tantamount to gambling, but I’ll be sure to keep that in mind for the future. My point here is that you have to see this whole mess from my perspective. I cashed these checks in the exact same fashion for several years without an issue. Last year, my wife took the refund checks and she deposited them into her checking account as the lone signatory, again without a hitch.”

BM: “But, if you sprint across the street four times without getting hit by a car, does that make it safe to try it a fifth time?”

POB: “Do you really wanna make that analogy?”

BM: “Sure. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

POB: “Well, I find it enlightening that you equate doing business with Bank of America to getting hit by a two ton vehicle, but hey, if it makes sense to you....”

BM: (chuckles nervously) “I’m afraid you’re missing my point.”

POB: “Then fear no more because, trust me, I got it. However, I suspect that you might not be understanding where I’m coming from. See, I could’ve just put my money under a mattress once the funds cleared and been done with this headache, but I choose to go to a bank because there’s supposed to be a level of trust and security. I’ve done my part and I’ve deposited scores of checks here over the last few years. Does that monitor you have in front of you keep a record of how many of my checks have bounced?”

BM: “Well sir, I’d need some time to research that, so I don’t think….”

POB: “Then let me save you some time. None. Zero. Every check I’ve ever deposited here has been valid. I’ve established that I can be trusted, but what does it say to you that, this most disturbing event has caused me to lose trust in Bank of America?”

BM: “Sir, I’ve explained to you that your funds were put on hold due to…..”

POB: “Put on hold as of March 20^th! But prior to that, the funds had cleared and the money was available to use within my account for over a full week! So, either the bank held the funds as an act of malice or they completely dropped the ball and placed the hold on way too late. And between being evil and being incompetent, I would imagine that being reviled is the lesser of two evils.”

BM: “But we're neither... because now the funds are available to use. Here, see for yourself.” (she showed me the screen displaying the available funds).

POB: “And again, that’s great and I’m happy to see that, but now we need to discuss these bogus overdraft fees and what you can do to reimburse me.”

BM: “Sir, you as the banker have a responsibility to know how much is in your account prior to making any purchase, so if your account showed a negative balance and you continued to make purchases, then you are liable for those overdraft charges.”

POB: “But don’t you think it’s unreasonable to expect me to go to an ATM machine before making every purchase when I have no reasonable cause to believe that a near ten thousand dollar balance won’t be quite enough to cover the cost of a box of Tic-Tacs?”

BM: “Well, perhaps, but you didn’t have a near ten thousand dollar balance, did you?”

POB: “I did... until Bank of America stole my money!”

BM: “Well, I wouldn’t use such strong language, sir.”

POB: “What strong language?”

BM: “Stole. Nobody stole anything from you.”

POB: “You know, maybe you’re right. So, let's see. I HAD ten grand in this account, I didn’t withdraw it, didn’t spend it, didn’t move it and didn’t misplace it… yet the money was removed from my account without my knowledge or consent. Now if I can just think of a verb that could accurately embody the description I just gave.”

BM: “Sir, you don’t have to be sarcastic with me. Besides, the funds are right here, so what do you call that?”

POB: “Uhh, I don't know. Thieves' Remorse? Victim Compensation? Justice? Am I getting warm?”

BM: (laughs) “Sir, please understand that I’m only trying to help.”

POB: “Great, then have a look at the four overdraft fees you guys hit me with, each for $35.00 on an account that had plenty of funds to cover the purchases. Thirty-five times four is 140, so if you’d be so kind as to put the $140.00 back into my account, I’ll be on my way.”

BM: “I can probably refund you one overdraft charge, but…”

POB: “Well, that’s obviously unacceptable, seeing as how Bank of America willingly allowed me to incur FOUR times that amount before putting a stop to it. Why is that, incidentally?”

BM: “Why is what?”

POB: “Why does Bank of America allow for continuous overdraft fees to incur instead of just stopping the first attempt to purchase something when no funds are apparent?”

BM: “Well, the short answer is because it costs Bank of America more money to deny authorization of a purchase.”

POB: “So, instead of costing the multi million dollar entity a few dollars to do its job, the customer is forced to pay the price instead?”

BM: “Again, this goes back to the customer’s responsibility of making sure that he or she has enough funds to…”

POB: “I think I’ve already proven beyond any reasonable doubt that I had the funds to cover it, so why don’t we just stay on-track with this issue? Simply put, if Bank of America has the ability to deny authorization on the fifth transaction, then it has the ability to deny it on the first which is precisely what should have happened. After all, the Bank had to cough up the money to stop the authorization anyway, so now we’re just looking at the four unnecessary overdraft fees.”

BM: (sighs heavily, clearly exasperated at this point).

POB: “Okay, while you’re taking this time to breathe heavily, I’ll lay it out for you. I see this going one of two ways. The way it goes will be entirely up to you. Either you refund the four overdraft fees and I leave moderately happy or.... you don’t refund the fees, I pull every nickel out of my account today – in cash - get my wife to do the same, recommend to all of my friends to do likewise and I file a formal complaint against this branch of Bank of America to the Better Business Bureau with an option to submit a written version of my story to every major news station, hoping to God that one of them decides it might be worth looking into and, who knows, maybe even doing an exposé. The choice is really up to you. I’m fine with either option at this point.”

By this time, it was evident that the bank manager couldn’t hide the anger in her eyes, so she started typing sh*t onto her computer. After a few seconds, it became clear to me that she was doing a refund with “reason” being typed out as “extenuating circumstances.” She put $135.00 dollars back into my account - $35.00 for the first overdraft fee and an extra $100.00 manager override. Yes, that left me five bucks shy, but I had most of my money back and decided to leave before the temptation to utter profanities hit me.

She told me of the refund and showed me on the screen. She even suggested that I could check the ATM machine just outside if I wanted to see it for myself. She gave me a receipt and a copy of the “New Customer” booklet that all newbies receive when they open up an account with Bank of America. I was gonna let her off the hook, but this was clearly her own little "f**k you" to me without actually using the words, so I decided to deliver the parting shot.

I reciprocated by telling her that, now that I know that balances of under $10,000.00 are barely looked at for at least a week, I'm tempted to tell all of my friends to deposit a slice of bologna into their account for $9,999.99 and be sure to cash it out before Bank of America picks up on the fact that they're paying a small fortune for rancid deli meats. By this time, however, she just kept her gaze focused on her screen and, through gritted teeth, asked if there was anything else she could help me with. I thanked her for her time and left without any bloodshed.

Sure, I'll admit that I was a total a$$hole on this day, but if they expect to keep their customers satisfied, they're gonna have to start looking out for the customer's interests before their own. And if they need extra hands on-deck..... hey, I'm looking for work. Let's talk salary, just don't ask me to do direct deposit.

I'm just not in a gambling mood.

Heroes of Mediocrity

I have a near fourteen month old daughter and it’s my obligation as a father to endure mind-numbing programs once in a while for the sake of her education. Obviously, watching an entire program that centers around, say, counting… won’t exactly entertain me, but I do it for my daughter’s benefit (…and at my wife’s behest).

And since pretty much everything I enjoy on television is violent or otherwise inappropriate for my little princess, TV pretty much sucks these days. As it stands now, football is my only refuge… and with Super Bowl XLII coming up in just a couple of days, TV’s gearing up to suck even more once the season is officially over.

So, my weekday mornings are all about the Disney Channel. My daughter sits mesmerized and I silently criticize everything in my mind. Here’s what I’ve figured out so far.

Winnie the Pooh and Tigger are absolute retards, the Wiggles are gay, the Doodlebops are gayer, Handy Manny never pays for anything, Mickey Mouse is narcissistic, the Little Einsteins need my help with everything... and every ass-clown over the age of nine in Higglytown is a f**king hero.

Things like echos, whistling, melting snow, loose teeth and growing flowers really baffle the sh*t out of Tigger and Pooh and, if not for the little girl (who’s always the one to figure sh*t out first), these retards would probably be dead by now. And yet, no show annoys me more than Higglytown Heroes.

Holy sh*t! Mediocrity is celebrated no more fervently than in Higglytown Heroes; a computer animated show. Imagine a city full of living Matryoshka nesting dolls with the plotlines centering around four kids and a talking squirrel (…all of whom can nest into whoever the next largest kid happens to be). Now, when I think about heroes, I imagine Superman saving Metropolis from Doomsday or, for real-life heroes, I think of the rescue workers of 9/11.

What I don’t think of are hall monitors, mechanics, physical therapists, plumbers, gardeners, artists, waitresses, librarians, window washers, museum curators and cows.

I sh*t you not, I said “cows.” I mean, holy sh*t, EVERYBODY’S a f**king hero on this show!

Then again, I figure that everybody is a hero in these kids’ eyes because all four of them are f**king stupid. Seriously, they can’t figure anything out for themselves and it’s truly pathetic. The girl of the group comes up with all of these crazy-ass ideas you'd swear she could only get from a seriously f**ked up acid trip. The best part is that, in every episode, her theory of the day is shot to hell by a f**king squirrel. And this squirrel delivers an even bigger "f**k you" when she winks at the camera before cutting "Twinkle" down because even a primate knows how ridiculous this girl's ideas are.

And not everything that they fret over is even a big deal. Remember the “cow hero” I alluded to a second ago? Care to know how a cow could possibly be a hero? Well, the disaster for this particular episode was a farmer’s inability to make ice cream because he didn’t have any cream. One kid (in a stroke of pure brilliance) suggested that they could use ketchup in place of cream to make their ice cream. As you can imagine, they’re not exactly setting the bar very high.

Based on how easily these kids are stumped, I can only conclude that they’re borderline retarded. The cow provides the cream necessary to make the ice cream and the day is saved. If I were a nesting doll on this show and the four-eyed kid started fretting “What are we gonna do?” like he always does, I’d probably smack him upside his head and tell him to stop sniffing markers in class.

Michael Newdow Can Kiss My Ass

I’m aware that this country is full of petty and annoying people, but I rarely single anybody out as being a specific thorn in my side. That all changes today, because a certain name pops up in the news just often enough to piss me off to the point where I feel I need to vent. His name is Michael Newdow and if you don’t recognize the name, odds are you’ll recognize the issue that practically made him a cult celebrity.

This is the atheist who, back in 2000, sued the Sacramento School District because he didn’t think it was right that his daughter and other children in her school should be made to recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. He argued that the Pledge violated the establishment clause of the U.S. Constitution (which demands the separation of Church and State) because it refers to our “…one nation under God.”

Newdow says that folks who are gathered in public venues are supposed to be “protected” from state-sponsored religious declarations and, according to this peckerhead, we need “protection” from the words “under God.”

In 2002, a ruling was rendered in his favor, but about two years later, it was overturned by the U.S. Supreme Court on what can only be described as a technicality (Newdow didn’t have custody of the daughter for whom he alleged to have filed the suit). God had seemingly dodged a bullet… and yet we hadn’t heard the last of Michael Newdow.

In November of 2005, he was back at it again, but not content with just trying to piss on our patriotic traditions, he decided to launch an attack on our money, too.

Side Note: Not long after reading about his first suit, I actually predicted this would be his next move, regardless of whether he won or lost Round One of his God attack.

Apparently, Newdow felt that having the motto “In God We Trust” on our coins and paper currency was a violation of his (and presumably our) First Amendment rights. By the middle of 2006, a federal judge rejected his suit, ruling that the words “In God We Trust” represent a “secular national slogan” that didn’t force any type of individual adherence to a belief in God.

In a follow-up interview (…on the day that the United States House of Representatives passed an act to protect the Pledge of Allegiance from ass-clowns like Newdow), he was quoted as saying,

"A few hours ago, the House of Representatives of the Congress of the United States of America voted 260 to 167 to completely gut the Constitution of its separation of powers and violate numerous other clauses because they thought it was important enough to keep 'under God' in the Pledge of Allegiance. I don't think people would've done that for our political heritage or anything else. They did it because they want God in their government because it stands for a religious view that they adhere to, and they want to see that religious view espoused by government, which is exactly what the establishment clause forbids."

All along, Michael Newdow has claimed to be “fighting for the Constitution” which is obviously a huge load of bullsh*t. He doesn’t give a sh*t about Americans or our rights.

He’s a bitter atheist with an axe to grind against God and this is his way of doing it.

Not surprisingly, he’s a physician with a law degree which is arguably the worst possible atheist in existence. For one, if he's ever saved even so much as one life during his practice, he’s probably already got a God complex of his own. Add to that his legal acumen to pick apart the Constitution to suit his own selfish desires and you get a potentially dangerous litigant who just might one day twist the truth enough to make others see things his way.

What Newdow fails to realize is that the establishment clause was never meant to guarantee that people would never be exposed to any type of religion whatsoever. You see churches all over the place, not to mention cemeteries with countless images of crosses, Jesus, Mary, etc. It does, however, prevent our government from forcing people to worship God... and I'm sorry, but reciting the Pledge of Allegiance or handling money that says, "In God We Trust" is not tantamount to pushing somebody to their knees and praying. Kids stand when reciting the Pledge as a show of respect. I've been to a Brazilian soccer game where their own anthem was sung. I might not be Brazilian and I might not know the words, but I still stood out of respect for the country and what it stands for.

So, what is this country supposed to do? Get rid of the Pledge of Allegiance? Alter it? Wouldn't it just be easier for his daughter to stand (in respect) and remain silent? And how about our “In God We Trust” motto? Do we just get rid of that, too? If so, do we then collect all of the previously minted coins and melt them down? Do we burn our paper currency?

And what about cities like Los Angeles (The Angels) and Sacramento (Sacrament)? Do we rename every city that has a religious name? And what about those cemeteries I mentioned? Do we hit every cemetery in America and remove every religious symbol we find, lest we offend anybody who doesn't believe in Jesus?

Where does this insanity end? Is Newdow gonna try to break into the National Archives and erase “all men are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights” from the Declaration of Independence? And before I wrap this up, I'll say that it’s been my experience that liberals will often try to discredit “slippery slope” arguments based solely on principle. Yet I’m already seeing it with the desecration of marriage, I'm seeing it with the gay agenda... and I’m seeing it now with the atheists in our country and their attack on God.

And all of these bullsh*t court rulings start out the same damn way. Some person who lives their life against the grain comes up with an idea on how to get the entire country to conform to what they want, so they file a small suit in a small court. They win the suit and before we know it, the entire country is embroiled in debates that go on for years and even decades. The law changes quickly to favor the litigant, but it takes forever for the voting public to change it back. That is, of course, if we even CAN change it back.

I'm a Christian and a proud American... and whether Michael Newdow likes it or not, this great nation of ours was founded by Christians. The Pilgrims risked everything to come to this land for the sole purpose of having the freedom to practice Christianity without being persecuted or murdered.

This is our history... and I see no reason to try and rewrite it to suit the needs of one pigheaded man.

And yet, people like him are slowly succeeding in their goal to oust God from our country. Don't believe me? Okay, well have you seen the new U.S. One Dollar coins that were recently minted for mass circulation? If not, have a look at one of them and see if you can find the motto “In God We Trust.” If you take a quick glance at the coin, you probably won’t find our motto.

If, however, you squint your eyes and look at the edge of the coin, you just might be able to make out the engraved words. This is how it f**king starts and based on what the courts have done to destroy the institution of marriage in these last few years, I predict it’s only a matter of time before some liberal court votes to do away with all God-related mottos from our currency and our pledges.

Just be careful what you wish for because God doesn't stick around where He's not wanted and if you keep pushing Him out the door, He'll leave... and take His blessings, His protection and His salvation somewhere else. And trust me when I say that America needs God's protection now more than ever.

I don't know about you, but God's always got a place in my home and if Jesus ever knocks on my door, He'll be greeted with open arms. <")))><

Cancún, Timeshares and the Hard-Sell

I’m sure by now, pretty much every American over the age of sixteen has at least a passing understanding about timeshares and the selling pitches that people endure for the sake of scoring some free sh*t. You usually hear about them shortly after disembarking in some tropical part of the world.

My intro to Timeshare Hell began with my first trip to Disney World at the age of fourteen. I was psyched to be in Orlando (obviously), but shortly after we entered the lobby of our hotel, some dude approached us about a timeshare presentation that was happening that next morning. I was only half paying attention since the salesman’s focus was obviously on my dad instead of me, but the guy basically convinced him to exchange our carefree morning for this presentation.

Our reward? ..... A free breakfast.

Personally, I’d have been like, “F**k you AND your waffles” but what can I say? It wasn’t my call and my dad, knowing the value of a dollar, was more keen to save a few bucks if he could. As you can imagine, I spent that next morning completely bored out of my skull. I mean, Orlando is home to the Magic Kingdom, Epcot and all that cool stuff…. but nooooo, we get stuck looking at room after room of a place we would literally never, ever buy.

At the time, I didn’t quite understand what had happened but I remember thinking, “Wow, that was a whole lot of mind-numbing bullsh*t to endure just for a free breakfast?”

Fast-forward to late August of 2005. My wife and I decided to cash in our AA miles for a free round trip flight to Cancún, Mexico because money was tight enough to encourage us to save, but not so tight that we didn't feel like we should at least try to get the f**k outta Dodge for a few days of R & R.

Now, Cancún had been hit with a couple of tropical storms in the months prior to our trip, but they had no real problems bouncing back, so Cancún was clean and storm-free during our stay. However as I'm sure you'll recall, a couple of noteworthy hurricanes were gearing up to make history.

While we were in Cancún, Hurricane Katrina was approaching the Louisiana coastline to the point that, by the time we were set to fly back home, New Orleans had been destroyed. Ironically enough, me and the missus rang in the 2005 new year in New Orleans several months before the disaster hit. It was our first time there and, after leaving in January of 2005, we both agreed that it really wasn’t a city for us (…as we weren’t sex-crazed heathens or anything).

Our eyes had been on the news while we were in Cancún because our fear was that Katrina would hit us (…it never did). Ironically enough, Hurricane Wilma DID hit Cancún two months after we were there and basically pounded it to hell. Made me glad we didn’t make any major Cancún property investments, which leads me into my story.

Again, it's the end of August, 2005. We de-planed, went through customs, got our luggage and as we were wheeling our sh*t out, a snappy concierge-looking dude approached us. First it was, “Let me help you with your luggage,” to which I replied, “Thanks, but we’re good.” Then, he asked us if we had already made lodging accommodations to which I replied “yes” (…does anybody really go on vacation and NOT make reservations ahead of time for a place to stay?).

So, after asking us where we were staying, this guy whips out a handy-dandy Cancún map, locates our resort, then starts asking us what we had in mind to see while we were in Mexico. Before I even knew what’d hit me, he was offering all kinds of discounts for day trips, evening shows, restaurants, etc. Being the reluctant man that I can be from time-to-time, I (politely) asked, “What’s the catch?” to which he revealed the true catalyst behind his apparent magnanimity.

He wanted us to sign up for a time when we could devote 90 minutes to hearing a timeshare presentation.

All at once, the flashbacks hit me – flashbacks of Orlando with images of me walking on Astroturf for what felt like an eternity in a stupid-ass miniature golf course the Floridians had at their timeshare. I started to tell him that we weren’t interested, but my wife interjected. I then remembered that, hey, we’re a couple and she has every right to have a say in the matter, so I clammed up to hear her perspective.

She pointed out that he did have discounts to at least three of the things we had planned on doing anyway. In her mind, she figured 90 minutes would fly by and we would have all kinds of free stuff to make our already economically-sound vacation that much thriftier (…if that’s even a real word).

I pulled her aside and gave her a quick rundown on how f**king annoying these timeshare presentations can be, but she was fine with all of that. I told her they’ll try to get us to buy vacation property here and she just said, “Well, we don’t have to buy anything to get the free stuff. We just have to listen to what they have to say.”

Then it hit me.

She’s never BEEN to one of these hard-sell timeshare presentations, so she’ll never really fully understand my trepidation until she’s experienced this agony first-hand.

I acquiesced and said we’d do it. After all, my wife will never know the pain of getting kicked in the cubes, but by golly, by the time we get done with this presentation, she WILL know what timeshare pain feels like.

We'd arrived in Cancún late enough to know that we'd have only a little idle time to check in, situate ourselves, scope the area out and grab dinner before that next morning's dreaded timeshare breakfast. The morning started out pleasantly enough. Some Carlos or Pablo dude, whatever the hell his name was, greeted us bright and early and led us to the breakfast buffet.

I coached my wife briefly before meeting with this guy and told her that regardless of what numbers I quote as representing what we make or what we have, just run with it. The last thing I needed was for me to give this guy a fake number for our combined annual income, only to have her chime in with, “What are you talking about? We make way more than that!” I even ran through a few “easy-to-commit-to-memory” numbers to use for continuity's sake in case we got separated.

I mean, after all, it was a buffet. I was bound to go back up at least once, so I wanted my wife to be able to hold him off during that time. I figured that if he believed us to be living in abject poverty, he’d probably cut his sales pitch short. Looking back on the experience, I’m quite certain he’d have continued even if I told him I was a homeless beggar on the streets, living in a piss-stained sleeping bag and talking to my imaginary goat.

He wrote down everything I said with regards to money and the salaries we purportedly made, undoubtedly prepared to plug the numbers into some insane algorithm that would somehow prove that I could buy a million dollar timeshare on a T.J. Maxx salary.

So, we got to a small theater, sat down and watched a boring-as-f**k video about how awesome their properties are, all the while I’m asking my wife things like, “How does this clown look himself in the mirror in the morning? I swear he'd sell cookies to a diabetic.” So, we got done with the video and we made our way to the guided tour of the facilities. By now, we’ve exceeded the 90 minutes of our time we said we’d give, but never wanting to be rude, my wife insisted we stick it out a while longer.

So, there we were checking out the rooms and, yeah, they were nice enough, but who cares? We're not staying there. Then we got to the balcony and he pulled something a little unexpected. I don’t even remember what it was he said exactly, (…something along the lines of, “You’re a funny guy. So, are we friends?”) but he then held out his hand for a handshake.

I found it weird that he’d ask if we were buddies, then look for a handshake right at that moment (…we were out in the open air). Now, when I’m in the U.S.A., I know my rights and I know what people can and CAN’T do. When I’m in a foreign country, I’m less knowledgeable and, as such, fearful of what a simple gesture can sometimes represent.

I had this (perhaps irrational) fear that, if I shook this guy’s hand, it would somehow constitute a binding agreement on my part to buy property. I mean after all, he HAD just quoted a price for the first time since this presentation had begun ($85,000.00), so I'm standing there thinking, “Am I gonna wind up in front of a Mexican judge next year, trying to convince him that I never agreed to anything, only to have him show me video surveillance footage of me shaking hands upon hearing the price I’d have to pay for this sh*thole?”

I even had this imaginary judge’s voice in my head saying, “Well, everybody in Mexico knows that a handshake is just as good as a signature when negotiating a deal and you KNEW you were at a timeshare presentation when you shook, so you’re sh*t out of luck, gringo!”

So, at first I just kinda chuckled and turned my back to him, presumably to admire the view of the coast. I figured that if this really was a harmless gesture, he’d put his hand down in a second or two. I remarked on how beautiful the beaches were, how awesome the weather’s been so far, wonk, wonk, wonk.... and then, after about twenty or so seconds, I turned to face him again.

HIS HAND WAS STILL OUTSTRETCHED!

Now if I was being paranoid about the significance of a Mexican handshake, this didn’t exactly help quell my fears. Again, he said something along the lines of, “C’mon, friend. Don’t leave me hangin’ like this.” I’m still trying to keep the mood light amidst the mounting tension, so I chuckled again as if hearing a humorous anecdote and told him, “Hey, you don’t need my permission to lower your arm.” Then, my “politeness-is-Priority-One” wife turned to me and said, “What are you doing? Don’t be rude!”

Yeah, not helping.

He literally (no bullsh*t) kept his hand outstretched for almost two solid minutes before I had no choice but to come out and say it.

“Sorry buddy, but I don’t shake hands with anybody during a sales pitch unless I’m sure that I’m gonna be buying something.”

This not only did NOT stop him, but I could swear I saw a bit of drool trickle out of the side of his mouth when I said this. He didn’t let up, so I continued with, “Dude, no offense, but I’m not going to shake your hand, so you can put it down.” After a few more seconds of having to look at his outstretched hand, I punctuated my statement with, “No really. You need to put your hand down....... Now!”

Finally, he relented. Needless to say, I had to later explain to my wife why I seemed so hostile towards him. She thought I was overreacting, so I later asked her, “Didn’t you think it was odd that he kept his hand up for almost three uninterrupted minutes?” At that point, even SHE had to admit that was a bit unsettling. My wife, God bless her heart, is the kind of person who tends to get professionally victimized time and time again because she won't stand up for herself at the risk of seeming rude.

And I'm the exact opposite of that.

We got to the final leg of our tour which was the “Sit Down and Make a Decision” meeting. By this time, we’d almost DOUBLED our time commitment and still hadn’t received anything in return.

Now, one thing that separates American salespeople from dudes like this is that, even if the pitch doesn’t result in a sale, the American is still polite to you. So, Pablo's sitting across from us, showing us the numbers and pitching some payment options for the place. Naturally, when you hem, haw and hesitate, the price magically lowers a few times. Yet I told him that, if he had bothered to think about it for five seconds, he’d realize that there’s no way we’d be able to afford this place on our combined salaries.

Then he started going into a story about how his mother owns a timeshare here and how she’s practically a pauper, so we should have no problems. I very politely told him that I didn’t think we were interested, at which point he had the audacity to sigh heavily, roll his eyes, lean in and say, “Look! You’re not gonna get a better deal on a place as great as this anywhere else!” He then stopped me before I could respond to call his manager over.

Not that we were ever gonna buy this piece-of-sh*t timeshare, but what he said next was definitely a deal-breaker.

Not bothering to lower the volume of his voice, he said to her, “Maybe you can reason with him. He’s clearly not understanding what I’m saying here.” Even my wife knew that was a no-no, as was evident by the “He did NOT just say that” look on her face. The manager started in and I cut her off almost instantly. At this point, I had no intention of being anything else other than unapologetically abrupt with these ass-clowns.

“Okay, I've heard enough! I’ve listened to you for almost three hours now! Now it’s your turn to listen to me!

First off, Pablo, I understand far more than you could ever imagine and, unlike you, I didn’t come to Cancún to negotiate major business deals, so don’t presume to tell me what I do and do not understand!

Secondly, if you had even a fourth-grader’s math skills, you’d have realized a LONG time ago that there is no way we could purchase a place like this without plunging ourselves into an insurmountable abyss of debt.

Thirdly, we agreed to give you ninety minutes of our time in exchange for all of these promised discounts, we’ve now given you DOUBLE that time and, unless you count frustration, grief and now, ANGER, we have yet to receive jack sh*t for our trouble!

And finally, we used our AA miles to fly here in the first place because it allowed us the opportunity to enjoy an economically-sound vacation. Only we haven’t had a chance to enjoy ANYTHING because we’ve been in Cancún for almost a day and a half and haven’t done anything we’ve wanted to do because of this pointless timeshare commitment!

Our final answer is NO and we have no intention on buying anything you have to sell us. And if you thought we flew here for free, just to blow eighty-five grand on property we’d never use, then I fear it is YOU who does not understand ME… or little else remotely related to common-sense for that matter.

Now, I suggest you uphold your end of the bargain because we’re leaving!”

Pablo took a walk, the manager conceded, gave us our free discounts and we were finally on our way to officially start enjoying our vacation. I turned to my wife as we exited the resort and you should have seen the look of surprised amusement on her face. I made no apologies then and I make none now because I knew damn well that, without that hard-lined response, we’d have easily blown another hour in there while crony after crony swooped in to break us down like vultures on a fresh corpse.

As we turned a corner, I looked at my wife and with a big grin on my face, I said,

“And that’s what a timeshare pitch feels like.” <")))><

People Who Need to Get Punched in the Head

I’m in a venting mood and I don’t care who I piss off today, so here’s a list of people who, at the very least, need to get punched in the head:

1.) The guy on the side of the road who waits until you’re almost on top of him before he starts crossing the street, thus forcing you to slam on your brakes. That lame brained move alone deserves a jab or two to the cranium. God help him if, after your brake pads are toast, he then decides he wants to move with the speed of a tortoise with a cement shell, all the while gawking at you as if your very existence is somehow shocking to him. At this point, you know he’s just trying to be an asshole, but he’s an asshole with a false sense of entitlement who may one day try that sh*t with someone who doesn’t give a rat’s ass if this clown makes it from Point A to B or if he becomes a f**king hood ornament.

2.) The woman who, as she is about to get into her car, clearly sees that you have your turn signal on and are waiting for that spot, yet still takes like 45 minutes to get her sh*t together before she can pull out of her parking space. With people like that, I just wanna open up her door, smack her upside the head, tell her to get her ass in gear and stop wasting minutes of my life while she tries shining sh*t by applying make-up to her horrendous face.

3.) I’d reserve my next skull punch for any parent who becomes indignant and outraged when a teacher tells him that his kid is less than a model student, instead of addressing the ever so slight possibility that this could be a parenting problem. I once read a story about a preschool kid who couldn’t get through the day without biting all of her fellow preschoolers. After several unsuccessful attempts by teachers to curb her behavior, the teachers decided to call the parents in. Upon hearing this news, not only did the parents pull their girl out of the school, they sued the preschool! Because clearly, their daughter’s Cujo-like behavior had to have been the teachers’ fault. Twenty bucks says that when this girl gets home from school, she’s probably thrown into a cage with one of those ball-bearing water dispenser thingies that hamsters lick when they’re thirsty. But nope! They sued the school. Alrighty then. Anything it takes to avoid coming to grips with the fact that they’re sh*tty parents, I suppose.

4.) The person (usually female) who rats out a minimum wage-earning schlub to his or her manager after receiving less than exemplary service needs to have a face-to-fist meeting with me immediately if not sooner. The poor bastard’s behind a register (or deli counter), or perhaps waiting tables in a greasy-spoon, making like four dollars an hour. Isn’t his existence sad enough without you making it worse? Did you ever think for one minute that maybe this is the best job he’s capable of attaining at this time in his life and that perhaps, his job ain’t all smiles and lollipops? If you have that much of a problem with the service, don’t go tattling to his manager! Apply for a job! His job! Work right alongside of him…. and show him what being employee of the month is all about. Otherwise, shut the f**k up.

5.) The host of pretty much every moderately upscale restaurant I’ve ever been to who always seems to be a guy and always seems to have a princess fairy lisp going on. If you insist on having your midnight romps with Cecil the Wonder Schlong plowing your ass like Interstate 95 after a blizzard, that’s your business. But when you’re speaking to regular ol’, “I don’t exist just to piss my parents off” people, leave the lisp on the night stand next to the body glitter and the KY. In other words, talk like a man.

6.) I’ve got a special edition uppercut reserved for this next group: The couple who just can’t figure out how to get to a movie or a sporting event on-time, so they arrive after the game has started and wind up walking all over you to get to their seats. If you’re like me, you do that “hover slightly over your seat” maneuver which gives these late arrivals all of about three centimeters more room so that when they still manage to step all over you and slam their asses in your face, you wind up just plopping back down on your seat in disgust. Plus, no matter how much room you try to give them, they still take like three minutes to get through, all the while blocking your view and pissing you off. This is usually the same group of ass-wads who either can’t get enough of the vendors’ fourteen dollar beers or did get enough and now need to use the bathroom every five minutes, which means playing the “grind up on my f**king knees” tango each and every damn time they have to leave or return to their seats.

7.) Next on my sh*t list, the driver who sees that my turn signal is on and that I’m trying to get into his lane, yet insists on driving just close enough so that if I tried to cut in, I’d get clipped. This is usually the same asshole who, when I finally do manage to squeeze in after I’ve had my turn signal on for an hour, is lightning quick to beep his horn. Too bad he wasn’t nearly as quick at being courteous. Prick. I think it’d take more than one punch in the head to even that score.

8.) Anybody who’s pulling disability because they’re “depressed” doesn’t only need a good punch in the head. They need an education on just what it means to have a depressing life. For example, if you find yourself alone in your car, crying into your hands, punching the steering wheel and screaming at the rain, you’re not depressed – you’re just stupid… and you’ve got nothing to be depressed about.

Why? Because you have a steering wheel to punch and rain to scream at.

Try spending some time in a country where tanks and guns take precedence over food and water and the natives’ idea of a refreshing drink is licking moderately moist sand because the climate’s too damn dry for rain to exist. While you’re at it, hang out with a few emaciated kids and fly-ridden goats as you hunt for scorpions to eat because that’s all there f**king is. Then return to your “depressing” life back home and voilà - you’re f**king cured! It’s a hell of a lot cheaper than pumping thousands of dollars’ worth of meds into you while a heavily overpaid psychiatrist lies your moronic ass on a couch to discuss your “feelings” and how much your parents messed you up.

Cry me a river, numbnuts!

Nobody who gets to collect monthly checks for doing nothing all day but sit at home, knocking back bon-bons and watching Jerry Springer qualifies as a candidate for depression as far as I’m concerned. So, get up off your ass and get a job. I’ll sleep better knowing that my tax dollars are being used to fix f**ked up roads as opposed to your scarred psyche.

9.) And speaking of permanently scarring your children, if you’re a grandmother and you’re still in your forties, you have absolutely no business giving me tips on how to be a mature, responsible parent. Because for you to have attained grandmother status in your forties, it either means that you got knocked up way too young or worse – you raised a f**ked kid who got knocked up or did the knocking up way too young. Either way, it doesn’t bode well for you, so keep your mouth shut if you’re not particularly fond of angry thumps to the skull. And do NOT tell me that you don’t have any control over what your children do unless you’re prepared to punctuate that sentence with “…because I suck as a parent and never bothered to even try and instill him/her with a moral compass when I had the chance.”

Good parenting is like building a house. If you build a shoddy foundation, the house has no chance of standing on its own. If you build a solid foundation, but don’t stick around to oversee construction of the house, odds are the house’ll get f**ked up along the way and you’ll wind up needing to flick a light switch if you wanna flush the toilet. A good parent is someone who works hard to build that solid foundation, then oversees construction of the house, giving advice when needed. My wife and I have every intention on raising our daughter in the word of God and making sure that, by the time she’s old enough to choose her own path in life, she’ll make the right choices. In the meantime, if you can boast of holding a grandchild before your child can boast of holding a high school diploma, keep your pearls of wisdom to yourself. Because going to you for parenting advice would be like something that sucks asking something else that sucks about how not to suck.

And since I’m not really pissed off at anybody else today, I’ll just reread my blog about The Quiet Car, think about Window Bitch and envision her on the business end of that tenth punch.