Zeb and I got a safe deposit box eight or nine years ago and we put something in it, but neither of us can remember what it is.
To be honest, most of the time I forgot that we even had one. Then one day when I was looking for something to get rid of and I came across my safe deposit box keys. I always knew where the one was (sitting in the ceramic thing on my desk in the little red envelope) but I didn’t know where the second one was. And if you lose one, you have to pay to rekey the box, which is like $100. Or so I thought.
The second key!
Using this stellar logic I avoided the box all together. I pick my battles, people.
Today Zeb and I wandered down to Wells Fargo to see what was in the box and to close a few accounts. I’m moving my checking accounts out of Wells Fargo because they fucking suck. Take that.
Once we got there I learned that the second key deposit was $20, not the billions I had feared. I also learned that we had not visited since 2006. Oops. What’s $35 X 7 years? $245 for n.o.t.h.i.n.g. Time to shut it down.
Here’s a little movie I made of the big reveal.
I’m not sure what would be more exciting for you, my reader(s) HI DAD!
If there was nothing but a bunch of expired insurance policy papers and the deed to a house I no longer owned, or something of actual value. I know what would be more exciting for me. It turns out to be the most exciting of all.
We took the bag home and, can you believe it, I found the key! We opened it up and found money AND a homemade sex tape featuring this lovely lady.
No, she isn’t a porn star (can you tell?), WHICH MAKES IT EVEN BETTER! But don’t be fooled, home girl has some mad skillz. For instance.
She placed the tape in my hands for safe keeping (BIG MISTAKE). In the meantime, she was nice enough to give me a rather sizable business loan because Wells Fargo is run by a bunch of assholes and they wouldn’t grant me a loan for a property that was 75% paid off. As in lots of collateral on a Boulder property. Thanks for nothing, dickheads.
But home girl came through. Now that I have this tape in my possession, I’m thinking of renegotiating the terms of my loan. From now on, she pays me the 7% interest or else she goes viral.
How could I possibly treat a friend this way? Well, for one, she doesn’t read my blog, and two, I need a piece of this no-good-deed-shall-go-unpunished business. IT’S MY TURN!
I think that shutting the box down is a decent day’s work. I popped the money into my new checking account which is NOT AT WELLS FARGO and am feeling pretty cute. I’ve got a blackmail letter to write so I gotta bounce.
Here’s one other thing.
This perfume reminds me of Mrs. Castle, my 7th grade teacher in Sacramento. I loved her. LOVED. I loved a lot of my teachers but she was special. I have been fortunate to have had so many wonderful educators throughout my life. I purchased this perfume when I was old enough to buy it (17 or 18?) and have had it since then. Every now and then I splash some on but I have to be honest, it isn’t me, it’s Mrs. Castle.
My favorite/least favorite Mrs. Castle story happened a few days before Mother’s Day. My mom is psycho about Hallmark Holidays. I knew this and I was preparing to do something nice for her, I already had a ton of anxiety over it.
On our drive to school the radio announcer said, “Happy Mother’s Day” and I thought, “Oh shit! It’s today?!?!” I was confused and said to my mom, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!” She was furious that I hadn’t bought her something and given it to her first thing.
I told her I’d give her something when I got home, that I thought it was in a few days, that I didn’t realize … She told me to “Get out.”
I got out of the car, crying hysterically. I spent the whole day crying all throughout Mrs. Castle’s class, not knowing what I was going home to. It felt like I was going home to my own doom. I can still feel the dread in my stomach.
Mrs. Castle took pity on me. She insisted on driving me home rather than letting me take the bus. She took me to a florist, picked out the biggest, most expensive bouquet ever, and paid for it herself. On her teacher’s salary. She bought it for me to give to my mother.
Well, it turned out to not be Mother’s Day at all, but Mrs. Castle never said anything. I brought the flower arrangement home (it was gorgeous with roses and lilies) and gave it to my mom. She was still mad, she didn’t say a thing, she just motioned to where I should put it.
Later that evening I found out that it wasn’t Mother’s Day. That I hadn’t fucked up. I told her, with relief, but it didn’t matter.
I have sympathy for my mom (even though I am writing this which seems unsympathetic but this is my life, my story and this stuff happened). She was a single mother and she was probably dealing with something crushing and horrible that day. She had lots of days like that which isn’t to say she was a bad mom, but it seemed like life was extra hard for her.
Did I ever mention that I hate Mother’s Day and Birthdays and Christmas? Pretty much any event that requires a card to be purchased and delivered on-time, I hate. I hate it that my love could only be measured by a properly timed greeting card and rubber flowers, that nothing else seemed to matter.
And that while I love the idea behind flowers, I don’t really like them. Now you know why. I will never inflict that kind of brain damage on my kids. At least I hope I never will.
Featured image courtesy of marketplace.xbox.com