Bank of America piles on.............

Ever wonder what it feels like to be tied up and gagged? buried alive? or otherwise helpless and insignificant? I know how it feels. I imagine it would be similar to standing trial for rape and murder when you know you're innocent, but the media has you in the electric chair already; Except, I can't get an hour with Barbara Walters to tell my side of the story. I could only write a stupid blog. Here's my nightmare of a story; it's cut and dry....and f--king nuts!:

On a specificly documented date in January, at a specificly documented time, I deposited exactly 44 $20 bills into a Bank of America ATM. That's $880, $20 shy of my February rent, which I finally managed to pay in the first week of March. Why so late?........................Because it was never credited to my account. I was robbed by an ATM. It might as well has pulled a gun on me!

Now, if you think the amount of money this pirate theif of a company jacked from me is insignificant, then i apologize for wasting your precious time on such a trivial matter. For the rest, believe me, there is no possible way to describe the overwhleming feeling such a catastrophie brings, not with words.

Besides the unbridled rage, which hijacks any robbery victim's thoughts with revenge filled daydreams, I could do nothing to help my cause. Any thoughts of appealing to the banks sensitive side were short lived. There is no such side to this entity, regardless of their friendly commercials. They are all business; their electronic tellers are flawless and they want their money. What about my money!?

As if the depletion of my funds isn't horrible enough, I committed some blatant snafus which made the grand theft possible and torment my conscience with relentless feelings of self-loathing:

Numero Uno, my dumb ass didn't keep the reciept! Moreover, my old lady gets the privilege of reminding me how she warned me to hold onto the damn thing, only to have me crumple it up and toss it in the trash. I don't remember that, exactly, but it sounds about right. I never keep receipts and I won't apologize for that. If I kept every proof of sale I ever received I would go mad. There is no chance that I would actually organize them, NONE.

Receipts are trash. Get gas, rip up receipt; store clerk hands you receipt, rip it up, toss it; BUT, IF YOU JUST HANDED OVER all of your liquidated assets to a damn robot, YOU MAKE DAMN SURE you get that receipt!!!!....and you keep it until the transaction is verified. This is what I didn't do, so now, I'm screaming that I'm innocent while I get tossed against the wall of a holding cell like a bowling ball.

Second, I failed to see the necessity to actual check to see if the transaction was accounted for. Can you blame me? I didn't have the time to go all the way to my computer, click the mouse...like 3 times, and look at the number on my account summary. Who wants to go through all that? Besides, my landlord was nice enough to inform me that my check was bouncing around his office like DoubleD's in a tubetop....um.....doing jumping jacks.....you get what I mean, and he only charged me 50 bucks. Of course, this caused a beautiful financial landslide of late fees and humiliation from which I am still slowly emerging, dirty and bleeding; saying, "What the fu-k was that?".

The worst part is nobody believes me. You're probably skeptical, and the pea-brained zombies known as the bank's customer service, who play hot potato with my phonecall the second they realize I'm a customer needing service, are too ignorant to form such opinions. Even after talking my way to a "manager", I found no satisfaction. It very difficult to cold-call a brown-nosed geek, who put in years of corporate ass kissing to shamelessly climb to his prestigious middle management position, and convince him to shave off his annual bonus by cutting into his "ATM malfunction budget" with no evidence.

I fear the spirit of the 60's revolutionary has been engulfed by evil corporations. The only thing I can think of is to start up a club where lost souls fight each other and turn it into a terrorist group who will help me blow up this "bank-robber"'s headquarters. I think i'll use soap to make the explosives. I'll let you know how that plays out.

In the meantime, keep that damn receipt!