Those who know about my job know that I tend to stop in at the Holiday or SA to use restrooms during my day when there aren't ones available at the sites I deliver to. Unlike when I'm traveling around with kids, I don't stop "just because, it's your last chance for a while, better try now even if you don't think you need to." When I stop, I do need to. Probably have for a while, but needed to get a package somewhere first.
The other day I headed into a Holiday only to find the Women's was occupied. OK, not usually a major problem. I waited. And I waited. My knees were definitely starting to notice me. Two men came and used the men's room in their turn and left. Still I waited. There were no flushing sounds, no running water or pumping out towels sounds. What on earth could she be doing? Might she be sick? Even when an employee is in there cleaning, it doesn't usually take quite this long.
Now, I was lucky. I wasn't quite desperate enough to go ahead and use the men's room. I mean, they do have locks, after all, and are single-occupancy, just like the one I was still waiting for. But they are so-o-o-o-o-o disgustingly filthy. I don't even want my shoes to touch the floor in there. And I have been that desperate. I might be again soon, but not quite yet. What was taking her?
I decided I was really going to be pissed (any pun intended) if she was just in there putting on her makeup. Just as I was wondering if I needed to pound on the door and remind her others needed the facilities, it opened, and out walked the cutest sweet young thing. Judging by the lack of noises, she very well could have been putting on her make-up in there. But damn! She was in so long she might very well have started out ugly!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Bank Robbery: The US Bank Scam
DO NOT PATRONIZE U S BANK!
We all know there's a severe penalty for robbing a bank. But how about when the bank robs you?
I keep some of my IRA funds in bank (or credit union, depending on where the best deal is at the time) CDs. A while ago US Bank had the best rates, a modest 3%, though it's hard to get these days. They had the best rates for long enough for me to get two CDs, and then somebody else was a better investment.
You know the drill on CDs, right? You put your money in, it's locked up tight for the length of the CD, and at the end the bank pays you the agreed upon rate of interest along with your original money back.
Well, those days apparently are over.
Last week I got a letter I had trouble believing from US Bank. They have now declared my pair of CDs to be a Retirement Plan, and they're going to charge me for managing it for me.
WTF? A Retirement Plan? 2 simple CDs? What's to manage? Whatever happened to money in, locked in, money plus interest out?
MY BANK HAS DECIDED TO ROB ME!
Incredulous, I called them, trying to figure out what the mistake was. This wasn't in the deal, it's not a plan, and how can they change the rules on me like that? I mean, I get it, that they're renegging on their promised interest rate because 3% even on my paltry sum of cash is just too much for their greedy little asses, but how can they break the contract like that?
Well, they think they can. I argued every point in person, to a "personal banker" who was unflappable. He insisted what they were doing was perfectly reasonable, usual, and acceptable. I still disagree. I still feel robbed. I cancelled my US Bank card. (I only kept it "just in case" - I still have $20G in unused credit on other cards.) I tried to withdraw my CDs but was informed I would be penalized the entire remaining interest. The $30/year was much less than that. Of course, he said it added up to $180, and on 5 year CDs, he needs either a new brain or a calculator. $120, tops. They've been in over a year.
He also tried to claim that this was not a new policy, just a revamping of an old policy. Supposedly they used to do it for accounts under $5G, so all they were doing was bumping it up to applying to all accounts under $25G. Of course, if I added another $20G, I'd not be affected. And he was completely unfazed by the fact that this possibility was never mentioned to me when I made my initial deposit, definitely under $5G, or again when I made the second. For my nickel, it smacks of bait-and-switch.
Yeah, in a pig's eye. NOT ONE MORE PENNY FROM ME, YOU CROOKS! Who knows whether next year it'll be accounts under $50G. Whatever this greedy bank thinks they need to do to make "enough" money off our backs. The government is putting restrictions in place on some of their most eggregious thefts, so they are busy thinking up new ways to steal our money. THAT is their definition of "retirement plan". And they think I should pay them for this service. They even sent me a bill in the mail a few days later. But not to worry: if I want to save a stamp, just ignore the bill and they'll simply deduct it from my funds.
So what do you call it when the bank starts stealing from you? If it were one employee, it'd be called embezzlement. This way it's plain old bank robbery!
We all know there's a severe penalty for robbing a bank. But how about when the bank robs you?
I keep some of my IRA funds in bank (or credit union, depending on where the best deal is at the time) CDs. A while ago US Bank had the best rates, a modest 3%, though it's hard to get these days. They had the best rates for long enough for me to get two CDs, and then somebody else was a better investment.
You know the drill on CDs, right? You put your money in, it's locked up tight for the length of the CD, and at the end the bank pays you the agreed upon rate of interest along with your original money back.
Well, those days apparently are over.
Last week I got a letter I had trouble believing from US Bank. They have now declared my pair of CDs to be a Retirement Plan, and they're going to charge me for managing it for me.
WTF? A Retirement Plan? 2 simple CDs? What's to manage? Whatever happened to money in, locked in, money plus interest out?
MY BANK HAS DECIDED TO ROB ME!
Incredulous, I called them, trying to figure out what the mistake was. This wasn't in the deal, it's not a plan, and how can they change the rules on me like that? I mean, I get it, that they're renegging on their promised interest rate because 3% even on my paltry sum of cash is just too much for their greedy little asses, but how can they break the contract like that?
Well, they think they can. I argued every point in person, to a "personal banker" who was unflappable. He insisted what they were doing was perfectly reasonable, usual, and acceptable. I still disagree. I still feel robbed. I cancelled my US Bank card. (I only kept it "just in case" - I still have $20G in unused credit on other cards.) I tried to withdraw my CDs but was informed I would be penalized the entire remaining interest. The $30/year was much less than that. Of course, he said it added up to $180, and on 5 year CDs, he needs either a new brain or a calculator. $120, tops. They've been in over a year.
He also tried to claim that this was not a new policy, just a revamping of an old policy. Supposedly they used to do it for accounts under $5G, so all they were doing was bumping it up to applying to all accounts under $25G. Of course, if I added another $20G, I'd not be affected. And he was completely unfazed by the fact that this possibility was never mentioned to me when I made my initial deposit, definitely under $5G, or again when I made the second. For my nickel, it smacks of bait-and-switch.
Yeah, in a pig's eye. NOT ONE MORE PENNY FROM ME, YOU CROOKS! Who knows whether next year it'll be accounts under $50G. Whatever this greedy bank thinks they need to do to make "enough" money off our backs. The government is putting restrictions in place on some of their most eggregious thefts, so they are busy thinking up new ways to steal our money. THAT is their definition of "retirement plan". And they think I should pay them for this service. They even sent me a bill in the mail a few days later. But not to worry: if I want to save a stamp, just ignore the bill and they'll simply deduct it from my funds.
So what do you call it when the bank starts stealing from you? If it were one employee, it'd be called embezzlement. This way it's plain old bank robbery!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Call Your Local Sheriff
A friend of mine was upset. His son's family had just received an eviction notice from their landlord. They'd spent most of yesterday looking for a new place to live. Today I heard the additional information that they had to be out by noon tomorrow!
I knew a few things about them. The apartment they lived in was in Smalltown, Minnesota, in an old house that had been part funeral parlor. It was now three separate apartments, and the people renting the section that was the mortuary swore that it was haunted. Doors unlocked themselves, items moved, fuzzy things moved past one's vision. The family seemed both repelled and delighted by these events. At least, it wasn't their space that was haunted, if I recall the story right. Or maybe it just wasn't as bothersome as what was happening next door.
I also heard hazy details about the landlord not fulfilling his obligations, and other conflicts. One of those was the dog.
One can now get companion animals by doctor's orders not only for guide services, or warning of seizures, but to help treat anxiety or depression. By law, such animals cannot be prevented from living with the person needing such services, even if the rental was originally a "no pets" unit. One member of this family qualified for such an animal, and she was living with them. I'm told the landlord wasn't happy, in principal, since no mention was made of any problems like property damage or failure to clean up after the dog.
Whatever the primary cause, the family received a letter giving them less than 2 days to be evicted. I knew that didn't sound right, so I told my friend to call the local sheriff and find out if that was legal. He hung up right away to find out.
Later, I heard that not only was the 2-day notice illegal, as I thought, but that the landlord hadn't even been to court yet, a necessary first step. If he won his case, it would still be 15 to 30 days before they'd have to move, depending on cause. Further, the sheriff took it upon himself to call the landlord and set him straight on a few things. The landlord backed off rather quickly, suddenly stating the letter was just a friendly heads-up kind of a thing, a "courtesy" for his tenants.
Yeah, right. And I've got a bridge to sell.
At any rate, while they may still have to move, there will now be plenty of time to line up a new place, pack, and make all the other arrangements needed. Like, perhaps, finding a better landlord.
I knew a few things about them. The apartment they lived in was in Smalltown, Minnesota, in an old house that had been part funeral parlor. It was now three separate apartments, and the people renting the section that was the mortuary swore that it was haunted. Doors unlocked themselves, items moved, fuzzy things moved past one's vision. The family seemed both repelled and delighted by these events. At least, it wasn't their space that was haunted, if I recall the story right. Or maybe it just wasn't as bothersome as what was happening next door.
I also heard hazy details about the landlord not fulfilling his obligations, and other conflicts. One of those was the dog.
One can now get companion animals by doctor's orders not only for guide services, or warning of seizures, but to help treat anxiety or depression. By law, such animals cannot be prevented from living with the person needing such services, even if the rental was originally a "no pets" unit. One member of this family qualified for such an animal, and she was living with them. I'm told the landlord wasn't happy, in principal, since no mention was made of any problems like property damage or failure to clean up after the dog.
Whatever the primary cause, the family received a letter giving them less than 2 days to be evicted. I knew that didn't sound right, so I told my friend to call the local sheriff and find out if that was legal. He hung up right away to find out.
Later, I heard that not only was the 2-day notice illegal, as I thought, but that the landlord hadn't even been to court yet, a necessary first step. If he won his case, it would still be 15 to 30 days before they'd have to move, depending on cause. Further, the sheriff took it upon himself to call the landlord and set him straight on a few things. The landlord backed off rather quickly, suddenly stating the letter was just a friendly heads-up kind of a thing, a "courtesy" for his tenants.
Yeah, right. And I've got a bridge to sell.
At any rate, while they may still have to move, there will now be plenty of time to line up a new place, pack, and make all the other arrangements needed. Like, perhaps, finding a better landlord.
Anthony's Weiner
We're tired of yet another dim-wit politician getting in trouble and thinking he can lie about it, especially because these days there are recording devices everywhere and cyberspace leaves a permanent trail. May as well behave, guys, because you can't get away with it anymore. And when caught, 'fess up and then shut up.
On the picture in question, I must say it took some puzzling over it to figure out just what it was supposed to be. Partly I blame my old-fashioned low-def TV screen, and partly those are just weird undies and a weird pose. Still, it hardly rises to the level of... what, exactly? (And no puns intended. Well, maybe.) Anyway, really stupid picture to get in trouble over.
He claimed at one point he sent the pictures out as a joke. Here's a fair warning, guys. Any one who send a "junk shot" as a joke should not be surprised if the lady to whom it is sent laughs... at your junk!
On the picture in question, I must say it took some puzzling over it to figure out just what it was supposed to be. Partly I blame my old-fashioned low-def TV screen, and partly those are just weird undies and a weird pose. Still, it hardly rises to the level of... what, exactly? (And no puns intended. Well, maybe.) Anyway, really stupid picture to get in trouble over.
He claimed at one point he sent the pictures out as a joke. Here's a fair warning, guys. Any one who send a "junk shot" as a joke should not be surprised if the lady to whom it is sent laughs... at your junk!
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
They Do Grow Up
This Saturday my granddaughter is graduating from high school. Imagine! It seems so recent that she was so young in so many ways. But I've just gotten feedback from a couple of the other adults in her life that tells me how much she's grown.
As a close relative, sometimes it's hard to judge. Oh, you see the inches in height and the physical maturity. If you're lucky, you see a more mature response in conversations. Yet it's so easy to keep the memory of that tiny girl so close that it blinds you to all the changes taking place, until suddenly you're given the gift of seeing her through somebody else's eyes.
We both worked for the same boss at the auction house. He can be great with patience with teenagers, tolerant of some of their growing pains, letting them work through issues and learn how to do the job despite them. He called me a few weeks ago to let me know, among other things, how proud he is of her.
It came in contrast with another employee's actions. In looking for another, better job, this other employee didn't let Doug know that he used him as a reference. The first Doug heard of it was when he got called to give the reference. Jordan, when it was her turn, called him, offered him an apology for needing a better job to help with college expenses and thus needing to leave this position. Then she asked him if she could use him as a reference. And yes, she landed the better job. Doug was very impressed by how she handled herself.
Her very last school choir concert was a couple weeks ago. While we were all leaving, I passed her choir director in the hallway and stopped a minute to tell her how much I was going to miss coming to these concerts. When she knew who I was, she let me know how much she appreciated Jordan in her class the last couple years, and how much help she had been. Just that evening, before the concert, Jordan arrived, saying she had nothing to do, and asking what she could to to help.
Of course, some of the kid and the attitude do stick around. Jordan's school is a charter school, started in an old warehouse building downtown, and later moved into a fancy new school built just for them. Jordan started in a class of 14 students, transferred mostly from the monster-sized giant high school with something like 600 in a class. Jordan did very well in the new environment. The lower level classes are quite respectable in size as the school's reputation has grown, and I tend to forget it's beginnings.
When Jordan was telling me about graduation, I was thinking more about my own, back in the day, when each student was allowed two guests to witness the event. I asked her how many people it was OK to invite to come, knowing her mom's side of the family was already sizeable, and hoping more than just myself from her father's side could attend. In a voice heaping with all the scorn a teenager can apply to the foibles of the older generations, she reminded me, "Grandma, there's only 13 of us graduating! The more the merrier. There's a lot of space to fill."
We'll all be there with bells on, doing our part.
As a close relative, sometimes it's hard to judge. Oh, you see the inches in height and the physical maturity. If you're lucky, you see a more mature response in conversations. Yet it's so easy to keep the memory of that tiny girl so close that it blinds you to all the changes taking place, until suddenly you're given the gift of seeing her through somebody else's eyes.
We both worked for the same boss at the auction house. He can be great with patience with teenagers, tolerant of some of their growing pains, letting them work through issues and learn how to do the job despite them. He called me a few weeks ago to let me know, among other things, how proud he is of her.
It came in contrast with another employee's actions. In looking for another, better job, this other employee didn't let Doug know that he used him as a reference. The first Doug heard of it was when he got called to give the reference. Jordan, when it was her turn, called him, offered him an apology for needing a better job to help with college expenses and thus needing to leave this position. Then she asked him if she could use him as a reference. And yes, she landed the better job. Doug was very impressed by how she handled herself.
Her very last school choir concert was a couple weeks ago. While we were all leaving, I passed her choir director in the hallway and stopped a minute to tell her how much I was going to miss coming to these concerts. When she knew who I was, she let me know how much she appreciated Jordan in her class the last couple years, and how much help she had been. Just that evening, before the concert, Jordan arrived, saying she had nothing to do, and asking what she could to to help.
Of course, some of the kid and the attitude do stick around. Jordan's school is a charter school, started in an old warehouse building downtown, and later moved into a fancy new school built just for them. Jordan started in a class of 14 students, transferred mostly from the monster-sized giant high school with something like 600 in a class. Jordan did very well in the new environment. The lower level classes are quite respectable in size as the school's reputation has grown, and I tend to forget it's beginnings.
When Jordan was telling me about graduation, I was thinking more about my own, back in the day, when each student was allowed two guests to witness the event. I asked her how many people it was OK to invite to come, knowing her mom's side of the family was already sizeable, and hoping more than just myself from her father's side could attend. In a voice heaping with all the scorn a teenager can apply to the foibles of the older generations, she reminded me, "Grandma, there's only 13 of us graduating! The more the merrier. There's a lot of space to fill."
We'll all be there with bells on, doing our part.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Speaking Up
Sometimes a little complaining helps. Take last night. I stopped at the Forest Lake KFC for some hot wings. I've developed a fondness for them, and the 10-pack is just about perfect for a full meal, minus some of the coating. I figured I could eat them while driving home to make the Planning Commission meeting. Time was tight.
I bit into the first one. Or rather, I tried to. It was overcooked, the meat was dark brown all through, dry, stringy, tough, and flavorless. Not exactly what I had in mind for my $7. I tossed it and tried another. Then another.
It dawned on me that they weren't going to get better, that the first ones weren't an anomaly.
Dang! I tossed the boxful.
When I pulled in the driveway, I dragged out my receipt and called the phone number on it. The manager answered. I vented. I asked her if they were cooked yesterday and held over because nobody could eat them? I told her I didn't know what was wrong with this branch. It wasn't my first time I got overdone chicken here, just the first time I bothered to complain. Stillwater's KFC can get it right, Vadnais Heights can get it right, Mounds View can get it right, Wayzata can get it right, St. Croix Falls can get it right. Why not here?
She kinda snickered when I started listing all the stores where I'd happily gotten good hot wings. This increased my ire. I was going to have to go to a meeting, the reason I'd gotten them in the first place, and didn't have time to fix something else. I would have to go without supper. (Actually I convinced Paul to nuke a couple weiners quick-like, but why spoil a good rant with extraneous facts?)
She apologized, and offered to put my name on a list, and when I came back, I could receive double my original order, i.e., 20 hot wings. That seemed fair, even though it didn't solve my immediate problem. But would they be fresh next time? When asked, she offered to have me call ahead so they could put some in the cooker just for me so they'd be perfect just as I arrived.
I told her that she should be running her store well enough so that they didn't have to do that. They should be in good condition all the time. Further, I'd take her up on her offer, but that I'd sit in the drive-through lane and inspect the wings after they passed them out the window. And if they again weren't any good, I'd keep sitting in the drive through lane, stopping customer traffic, until I got some that were satisfactory.
She said that would be OK.
Tonight I stopped by on my way home to pick up my 20 free wings. When I got the box, I looked through them. They were OK. I described my experience from the night before, and the employee serving me suggested that they were really, really old to have been that dried out and overcooked. I informed her that the manager denied that they were old, just somehow got cooked too long. I was asked if it was a woman. When I said it was, she casually informed me, "Oh, she just got fired."
Sweet.
I bit into the first one. Or rather, I tried to. It was overcooked, the meat was dark brown all through, dry, stringy, tough, and flavorless. Not exactly what I had in mind for my $7. I tossed it and tried another. Then another.
It dawned on me that they weren't going to get better, that the first ones weren't an anomaly.
Dang! I tossed the boxful.
When I pulled in the driveway, I dragged out my receipt and called the phone number on it. The manager answered. I vented. I asked her if they were cooked yesterday and held over because nobody could eat them? I told her I didn't know what was wrong with this branch. It wasn't my first time I got overdone chicken here, just the first time I bothered to complain. Stillwater's KFC can get it right, Vadnais Heights can get it right, Mounds View can get it right, Wayzata can get it right, St. Croix Falls can get it right. Why not here?
She kinda snickered when I started listing all the stores where I'd happily gotten good hot wings. This increased my ire. I was going to have to go to a meeting, the reason I'd gotten them in the first place, and didn't have time to fix something else. I would have to go without supper. (Actually I convinced Paul to nuke a couple weiners quick-like, but why spoil a good rant with extraneous facts?)
She apologized, and offered to put my name on a list, and when I came back, I could receive double my original order, i.e., 20 hot wings. That seemed fair, even though it didn't solve my immediate problem. But would they be fresh next time? When asked, she offered to have me call ahead so they could put some in the cooker just for me so they'd be perfect just as I arrived.
I told her that she should be running her store well enough so that they didn't have to do that. They should be in good condition all the time. Further, I'd take her up on her offer, but that I'd sit in the drive-through lane and inspect the wings after they passed them out the window. And if they again weren't any good, I'd keep sitting in the drive through lane, stopping customer traffic, until I got some that were satisfactory.
She said that would be OK.
Tonight I stopped by on my way home to pick up my 20 free wings. When I got the box, I looked through them. They were OK. I described my experience from the night before, and the employee serving me suggested that they were really, really old to have been that dried out and overcooked. I informed her that the manager denied that they were old, just somehow got cooked too long. I was asked if it was a woman. When I said it was, she casually informed me, "Oh, she just got fired."
Sweet.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Replacing the Replacements
Steve - that's fiance Steve, not brother Steve - has had both knees replaced. Picked the best hot shot doctor he could find, guy with patients like, say, the Vikings. Sounds like a great recommendation, right? Problem is, he's never been without pain, and every once in a while they still swell up like balloons. His regular doctor now has him on a steady pain meds regimen, one pill 4 times a day.
It helps a little.
His regular doctor finally sent him to a local orthopedic guy. The doc thought it might be referred pain from the hips going bad too. Apparently it's common. The appointment was today. The good news is the hips are just fine.
It's the knees that suck. After moving his legs around, the orthopedic guy heard what Steve's been feeling ever since he got his new parts: they're too loose. It's time to put in new joints with longer shafts and a tighter fit so they actually stabilize the knees. Moreover, one knee will get a prosthetic joint which eliminates the need for the tendons. You know about tendons, those things that stretch, get frayed, get torn, and ultimately generally hurt with any movement and sometimes even without.
So we're both looking forward to him getting new, better knee replacements, and finally being able to walk without pain again. At least, that's the hope. I'm even hoping that my right knee -when the time comes - can get one of those prosthetic knees. It's the knee I keep falling on - or rather, landing on - and those tendons have lots of play in them, leading to instability which hastens bone wear. Not to mention hurting on their own just because. I'm familiar with the problem. So I'll be paying extra close attention to the outcome for Steve.
He's scheduled the first surgery for October. It could be done tomorrow, but Steve's waiting until fishing season is over. The guy's got his priorities.
It helps a little.
His regular doctor finally sent him to a local orthopedic guy. The doc thought it might be referred pain from the hips going bad too. Apparently it's common. The appointment was today. The good news is the hips are just fine.
It's the knees that suck. After moving his legs around, the orthopedic guy heard what Steve's been feeling ever since he got his new parts: they're too loose. It's time to put in new joints with longer shafts and a tighter fit so they actually stabilize the knees. Moreover, one knee will get a prosthetic joint which eliminates the need for the tendons. You know about tendons, those things that stretch, get frayed, get torn, and ultimately generally hurt with any movement and sometimes even without.
So we're both looking forward to him getting new, better knee replacements, and finally being able to walk without pain again. At least, that's the hope. I'm even hoping that my right knee -when the time comes - can get one of those prosthetic knees. It's the knee I keep falling on - or rather, landing on - and those tendons have lots of play in them, leading to instability which hastens bone wear. Not to mention hurting on their own just because. I'm familiar with the problem. So I'll be paying extra close attention to the outcome for Steve.
He's scheduled the first surgery for October. It could be done tomorrow, but Steve's waiting until fishing season is over. The guy's got his priorities.
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