6.23.2010

Bank Treats

Between two jobs I've been working almost every day.  I get every other Sunday off.

The money is starting to pile up, notably augmented by living out of the van, scavenging snacks, avoiding the impulse to buy gear, free shift meals, and half priced food at the SD Bar.

I can feel myself subconsciously shifting values back across the spectrum towards money.  This time last year I had less than $100 to my name and was sailing somewhere in Panama.

The whole more you've got more you want mentality seems inevitable, and it depresses me.  Holding onto hope that I'll be outfitting a bigger boat this time next year is what's keeping a smile on my face... after all, it's better for tips.  Behind that smile there's a smirk, however, and a sentence that usual begins, :"If only you poor, dumb fuckers knew how good it can get..."

Yesterday while killing time before heading to work, I snatched a copy of Adbusters and, as usual, it's intentionally shocking content jarred my system and reminded me what I'm really fighting for: raising awareness of impending doom unless we collectively get our shit together... and, since odds unfortunately favor chaos, pointing out the way I'm hoping to avoid it... a way to step aside and let it all slide on by.

Today while killing time before work, I walked Maestra downtown.  We headed to one job to pick up a paycheck and then to the bank to deposit it.  Maestra was loving it and wasn't even phased when she almost got clipped by a young douche who ran a stop sign while texting in Daddy's BMW.

I was a little shocked when I arrived at work to find I was the second to last person to pick up my check: they were only issued yesterday, so at some point in the last ~20 hours over 80 people had stopped in to get paid... and only one person was less concerned about it than myself... a clear reminder of the overwhelming dominance the almighty dollar has on life here.

My local bank got bought out by Wells Fargo but they're still trying to retain that small town feel by continuing previous practices, one of which is allowing dogs in the bank.  The tellers even give them treats, thrown down in from the window in give a dog a bone style.  As such, many local dogs are as addicted to the bank as their owners are... some will even refuse to walk past without stopping.  They'll sit outside the door and wait for their owner to yield.  Once inside, they'll put paws on the counter or sit patiently awaiting their treat.  At times, it almost looks like they're waiting in line with the rest of us suckers.

 Maestra's never been to the bank so she didn't have a clue how the program operated.  I let her in the front door and she just sort of sniffed around before plopping on the carpet for a scratch.  The tellers threw a treat at her... she sniffed it carelessly and went back to scratching.

I made my deposit and, Maestra in tow, started out the door.  The teller called out: "You forgot her dog treat."

"She's too smart for that trick," I replied.  I don't call her the Maestra for nothing.