25 August, 2009

Charlie goes shopping.

Within half of an hour, I was able to sell two of my old college text books on Amazon, raising thirty eight dollars. To Nicole from California and Jessica from Virginia, thank you. Also, contributing author Kirian's $50 totebag was shipped out today. Thank you, Kirian.
At the bank today, I was informed that I need US$100 to open a checking account. I sat there, internally thinking, "You know, if I had a hundred dollars, I would probably have four hundred dollars, and if I had four hundred dollars, I wouldn't need to open a checking account." But as Banker Steve and his boss informed me that I was essentially too broke to give them money, I explained to them exactly what the situation was:
  1. I need to withdraw US$20 from my savings account in order to...
  2. Open a checking account with said US$20 so that...
  3. I can receive payments from Amazon because they will deposit money in only my checking accounts for which...
  4. I'm going to have to get a debit card because...
  5. I need said debit card to buy a computer from Dell because Dell sells only online and accepts only credit or debit card, no checks or money orders.
They were patient enough with me to explain that Amazon has no idea what kind of account I have; that all routing numbers and account numbers are nothing more than directions for where to put imaginary dollars and cents and that Amazon can't do anything about anything about that. They went so far as to ask who told me it had to be a checking account and I explained that it was just some kid in a cubicle, then we all nodded in agreement that a bank has a better idea about where funds go. Tia did everything short of saying, "And if Amazon don't like it, tell 'em for me to have a Coke and a smile and shut the fuck up." Really. My bank is cool like that. Despite all this shit you hear on the news about crooked banks, the folks at my bank have always been straight with me; Steve even got me a Xmas card last year.
And, yes, I'm giving my bank a glowing review in the hopes that they misplace US$500 into my bank account.
From there, I went to the post office and then to look for external hard drive enclosures. Upon entering Office Depot, I was informed that there are no public restrooms. Having a full bladder that mildly irked me at the moment, I sauntered over to the computer crap: Network solutions and such, offering no real-world-need accessories. The faux-hawked lame-o for that department asked me if I needed anything:
A two and a half inch SATA external hard drive enclosure.
"Alright whu..." Turning, stopping. "Just the enclosure?"
"Oh, we don't sell just the enclosure."
[awkward silence measurable in milliseconds]
Do you know who would?
"Well, you can try across the street at Radioshack in Gavidae Commons, but if they don't have it you might have to break down and go to General Nanosystems." [please note that General Nanosystems is way the fuck out of my way]
OK, cool, thanks for your help.
So I make my way to Radioshack where the staff is about as helpful as a dolphin pod near a tuna boat. I spy the enclosures which are completely overpriced and aren't the type I need anyway. While Nutless Wonder over at the front counter runs through twenty questions with some woman who just wants to buy her RCA cable adapter and get the fuck out, I do that bit where you stand patiently by the product that's not exactly what you want and eyeball the living fuck out of Douche McTwentyquestions over there. I'm attempting the fucking Vulcan mindmeld with Scooter: YOU HAVE A TWO AND A HALF INCH IDE ENCLOSURE. DO YOU HAVE A TWO AND A HALF INCH SATA ENCLOSURE IN BACK? FOR UNDER TWENTY DOLLARS?
Pistol Pete wraps it up with the Pat Benatar stunt double and I start walking over when a ghetto couple hurry up to him: "Yo, I'm lookin' fo' one a dem prepaid phones yall got inna paper."
"We have those, but you know, the real special that we have is with T-Mobile. You see, you just -"
I said, "fuck it, it's Radioshack," and walked over to Target, which I had a feeling I'd regret because Target doesn't even have coffee scoops.

No. It's absolutely nothing like a fucking spoon. If it was anything like a fucking spoon, they wouldn't give it a name that outlines its specific purpose... Asshole.
Sure enough, I get to Target and all they have are the US$90 external hard drives. No enclosures. Of course it's gotta be iPodapalooza and training day wrapped all in one, so I can't find a red shirt to save my life. I walk home down Nicollet thinking, "There's gotta be another computer store on the strip somewhere.
And it's after six blocks that I see her. You know her. You love her. It's the hairdresser.
Nobody else would dare wear their hair larger than their torso, dressed head to toe in black with a pink scarf that falls to the knees. I do the standard "Holy shit! That's a squirrel in the complete opposite direction of my previous gaze!" move and walk along without incident. I call up to the computer joint on Hennepin and leave a voice mail telling them to call me if they sell two and a half inch SATA hard drive enclosures and I don't receive a return call.
Anyhow, SEND MONEY! (Or click some ads.)

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