Lawd ya'll. It's been the week from the firey burny place. I'm glad it's almost over. There ain't enough gas station wine in the holler to wash away the bullhockey I've put up with the past five days.
About Wednesday-ish I found myself flat busted broke. No moolah, no smokes and groceries were getting pretty scarce. I knew if I could make it til Wednesday, I could safely write a bouncy check at the Pump N Go or the Grab N Go (and go and go) and it wouldn't clear before pay day (which is today, so yay and don't despair.) However, I was out of checks.
I ordered checks last week, but they still hadn't made it here by Wednesday morning. I got a text from T.A. that morning, letting me know there was, however, a refund check from the auto insurance for $225.00.
SWEET BABY JESUS!!
I rushed home at lunch, grabbed the check and noticed it was made out to all three of us, me, Ma and T.A. My experience as a bank teller told me that there was no way in hell I'd ever get the damned thing cashed. If I deposited it in my online banking account, there would be a 7 day hold.
SHIT SHIT SHIT.
So, I forged Ma's name (don't judge,) signed my name and passed it to T.A. for her signature and headed down to the Frog Pond Holler Savings and Loan. The bank manager there grew up with my uncle, the Sasquatch Ginger and knows the whole damn family. He's also Uncle Mullet's dead wife's uncle.
We're all kin in the holler.
He took one look at the check and said, "I don't know what you're going to do with that. I can't cash it."
Dude... I was nicotine fittin' like Courtney Love in rehab.
Then he was like... "Wait, is your account here still active?"
"Umm.. I think so?"
"C'mon back, let's see." So I followed him back to his little brown office with the plastic plants (not even the good silk kind) and he started one-finger typing. "You have .87 cents! I can let you deposit it."
"Can I have like.. $50 out of it?" I think he saw the desperation in my eyes. "I can do that!"
So after I got home, I dug out my old Miss Piggy checks (I don't have a debit card for that account anymore,) and we were good 'til payday (yay! Today!)
Being poor is hard. You have to be crafty. And scrappy. And willing to accept humiliation.
Working full time at a job that drives you over the psycho edge on a daily basis and still being poor? That's unAmerican.
Anywho... better get back to it. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.
(If you don't mind, remember sharing is caring! Tell your friends.. The Bitch is Back in Town)