Everyone’s got a pet peeve. Maybe several, in fact.
For me, hands down, it’s BANKS.
Banks are a source of annoyance and anxiety.
Always have been, always will be, for me.
They are designed not to care for your money, but to remove it from you. In whatever devious method they can dream up.
Do I sound bitter?
There is reason, but I won’t bore you with those details.
How is it that banks always manage to send me annoying letters when I’m at a low ebb?
They must have a way of knowing when they can really piss me off.
Whoever sends out these letters is getting their jollies.
All right. I’ll admit. It was my fault.
Two years ago, Grant hurt his knee and couldn’t walk for a few days, leaving me to my own devices. The timing was BAD.
The car I’d managed to obtain in one desperate, short afternoon, was an older Subaru which was fine at the time and it did me well, but I had started to think about perhaps leasing a new car.
Subaru had sent me an advertisement about it and I could lease a new car for less than I was paying a month for the old one.
What was there to lose?
Certain things, I should never be allowed to do by myself.
One of them is buying cars. Or leasing them.
Grant thought the lease idea sounded OK and I told him “I’m just going to talk to them. I’ll be back.”
When I returned, I had a brand new Subaru, but no lease. I had been talked into buying the damn thing. And the worst part of it was that I had sat there, mesmerized, while Subaru made the financial arrangements.
My mind kept sending out warnings: “Say NO!” “DON’T DO IT!”
But I sat there like an idiot, as many, many phone calls were made and eventually, some financial institution agreed to lend me the money.
Needless to say, the old Subaru which had been purchased from this dealer had apparently depreciated ENORMOUSLY in just a year and wasn’t worth near what I had been encouraged to believe.
Well, I needed a car that would last me out and get through the New York winters. It was a good thought.
But that young salesman knew a stupid old woman when he saw one and I was no good at negotiating even when I was young.
The really ironic and equally annoying thing is that recently, some two years after the fact, I got a letter from Chase Loans to tell me that they had reconsidered my application. They had not properly considered all the information and they were now prepared to extend me a loan if I was still interested.
Did they really think I was still sitting in that showroom waiting?
You may imagine what I said when I read that!
Well anyway, here I was with a new car and a new loan, considerably more than the one I originally had. Naturally.
To my surprise, I discovered it was with my very own bank, who know perfectly well what funds I do and don’t have. BASTARDS.
All bastards are in cahoots. I know it.
In the beginning, I decided to accelerate payments, get ahead, as it were, but that went wrong and I was accused of not paying on time because the payments were incorrectly registered. Well. We sorted that out and I was going along nicely, getting reminders at the appropriate moment to transfer funds. Like they couldn’t just take it? But fine, OK, that’s what I did.
Then for no apparent reason, and without notification, the reminders stopped coming and instead of a gentle email saying “Oy, Carolyn, remember us?” No, they waited two weeks and sent me a snide letter and added a fine of $45 just to rub it in.
Now, according to my records, this should all have been up-to-date and I am really not an irresponsible person, but today, what do you know?
Another snide little letter arrived with another $45 penalty attached.
Oh, you don’t want to know what I said. I’m not always all that polite.
So I made a decision. “Here have the lot!” I’ll put the loan payment money somewhere else each month and I’ll remind myself about it.
Transferred the exact amount indicated on said snide letter. In theory, the loan should now read nil. Right? But does it?
Nope. No. I still owe some $2100. How can this be?
One way and another, I just bet they will have some reason to extort it from me.
Banks. I just hate them.
A pillowcase, that’s what I need. A small one will do.
The bank has also stopped prompting payments to US Healthcare for my Medicare supplement and this is something I daren’t neglect, BUT:
My supplemental insurance was bought out by Silver Script who was bought out by Aetna that has merged with CVS (or something like that, I can’t keep track)…and I now no longer know who is supposed to get paid what or when.
Check it out online through Medicare?
You must be kidding. That website is deep dark hole worse than the one I’ve been visiting. I won’t go there. It terrifies me.
Social Medicine. Oh yes, please.…
PS: Does anyone have any suggestions how I can discourage mice from extricating bits from my car engine to build their nest?
They have other things on offer. Blankets, shoes, boxes….
Back in WA I had a mother mouse deliver her babies in my Prius engine. They all died in there. It was HORRIBLE. For them and for me. I really don’t want a repeat. but the little New Yorker mice are at it as well….