The Post Master says he's gonna send somebody out to asses the damage. I keep thinking of the Arlo Guthrie song Alice's Restaurant Massacre where a federal indictment is made out of a simple littering charge. I wonder if we'll have to give DNA samples. While we're at it we can kill two birds with one stone and find out if there's a gene that relates to intolerance of stupidity and petty vandalism. If it exists, I'm sure Bekki's a carrier.
Our minimum credit card payment is $50. We paid $400 this month. But apparently the fiber-optic scanner that reads checks sent in to the Credit Union mistook our 4 for a 9. I'm not that great at math but I believe that leaves a $500 overcharge on our account. Since the card is in Bekki's name, she again was forced to take off the gloves in a verbal beat down between us and the Credit Union. They pussed out, though, and told us to call our bank. Who, in turn, told us to call the credit card company directly. So now we have three agencies sending us complaint forms which will take 7 to 10 business days. By that time we will have entered another pay period, missed our mortgage payment, been foreclosed upon, forced to live on the streets and eat out of the dumpsters behind Ruby Tuesdays. We will have run out of money to pay for antidepressants and will probably realize what dismal existences we live and take our own lives in what will be classified as a murder-suicide (Bekki hates knives). So now the question is whether or not our bank will reimburse us for the funeral costs as our life insurance plans exclude suicide. Which reminds me, I've got to call the bank.
On second thought, I'll just get Bekki to call.