This morning I have an 8:00 appointment to have some pre-op testing done (blood work, some other stuff, hopefully nothing too yucky). Then at 11:30 I have a pre-op appointment with my gynecologist who will be doing the surgery. In case you're new here, next Monday I am having a laprascopic hysterectomy. I've got questions and I'm sure he'll answer them. Dr. Jekyll is coming with me to get the deets on the surgery and to meet my doctor. Dr. Jekyll has one question for the doctor. Can you guess what it is?? Yep. You got it. He's a man, after all. He told me he only has one question for the surgeon:
(drum roll please -- this really should come as no surprise, really)
"How long until we can we have sex?"
*sigh*
Do men EVER think about anything else??? Honestly. Sheesh.
I still have some cold symptoms, so I am hoping that they won't postpone the surgery. I mean I've got myself all mentally geared up for it.
Anyway that isn't the main subject of this post.
Recently, we had a company BBQ, and at that event, we handed out longevity awards for people who had been with the company for 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, and this year we had our first 30-year longevity award. The 20, 25 and 30 year awardees were told they could have a gift certificate in a certain dollar amount from whatever store they wanted. One man came in to my office the following workday and told me he wanted a Wal-Mart gift card. In the past, we've been able to afford $500 gift carts; this year we could only afford $150. Sad yes, but at least they got something. (The 25 and 30 year folks got slightly more).
I have a company credit card, but I had maxed it out planning our company BBQ. So I had to request a check for the $150. Dutifully, I carried that check over to our local Wal-Mart and got in line at one of the checkstands. I had a choice between two checkstands, but one had a customer and one was free, so being the
impatient smart cookie I am, I chose the checkstand without a line. I briefly considered the other line, because the clerk at that checkstand I recognized as one who had been there a long time and I knew would know what she was doing.
"How hard can it be do to a gift card?" I thought to myself. Oh, little did I know.
I don't know if all Wal Marts are like this now, but our Wal Mart uses that electronic check thing, where if you write a check to purchase something, they process it electronically like a debit transaction and hand you back the check.
I walked up to the check stand, picked out a gift card and handed it to the clerk. She looked confused. I should have run for the hills right then.
She looked at the empty belt and at the gift card that I handed her.
"Did you want to check the balance?" she asked me.
I felt the beginnings of trepidation curling in my belly.
"Uh, no. I want to put a hundred and fifty dollars on that card." I pulled the company check out of my purse and proceeded to tear the check from the stub. Apparently to her this looked like a payroll check. This is important; remember this.
She processed the gift card and announced that it would be $150.00. I handed her the company check and she looked at it like she'd never seen a check before. The curls of trepidation turned into grumblings of dread.
She started to process the check, and then she asked me to enter my social security number. I thought that was odd, but then I thought, "well it's probably because it's a company check and not my own personal check." Dutifully I entered my social security number.
Something came up on her register and she sighed.
"Have you cashed a check here before?" she asked. I was puzzled, but thought she meant have I written a check.
"No, I usually use my ATM card." I replied.
She punched in some numbers, then her register beeped. She looked irritated.
"Oh, I screwed up. I have to start over." she harrumphed.
She punched in some numbers, and told me to enter my social security number again. She asked to see my driver's license and entered that into the computer. Then she asked for my phone number.
I remember thinking to myself, "Man they really have some security for paying by check!"
She finished with her processing, and put the check in the check reader and processed it. "Finally," I thought to myself. "I can get out of here."
She looks at the register, and announces, "That will be $1.50 for a processing fee."
Surprised, I said, "There shouldn't be a fee; I'm simply paying by check. What's the fee for?"
The clerk looked even more confused. Mind you, this wasn't a 19-year-old ditz. This was a 40-something-year-old ditz. Clearly when they passed out brains, she thought they said "trains" and she got out of line. And somehow -- somehow -- all of these people who are intellectually-challenged work at Wal-Mart. I swear.
The clerk took a closer look at the check, noticing that it was made out to Wal-Mart.
"Well, when you took out the check and tore it off, I thought you were cashing a check to get cash to pay for the gift card."
I rolled my eyes. "No. I am paying for the gift card by check. It's a company check. I tore off the stub so you would be able to process the check through the reader thing. It has to be removed."
She looked like I'd just explained quantum physics to her.
She got on the phone and called the manager. He came over and tried to help her. She explained what had happened, with some additional explanation by me. I told him that I simply wanted to pay for the gift card by check, but she'd gotten confused and processed the check as if I was going to cash it.
The manager went over and consulted with another manager. He came back to the register. He punched in some numbers and the cash drawer popped open. He pulled out $1.50 and handed it to me.
"There," he said, clearly proud of have solved the problem. "There's your $1.50 back."
I looked at him, stunned, with the $1.50 in my hand. "But I didn't pay $1.50."
"No, but you don't owe it because the clerk processed the check wrong."
"But I didn't pay it."
"It's okay," the manager said, pointing to the receipt, which showed a zero balance. "I processed the $1.50 and now you have a zero balance."
I stood there with the $1.50 in my hand. This whole thing reminded me of the old Abbott and Costello routine, "Who's on first?"
I realized that it was useless to argue. It had already been half an hour trying to solve the $1.50 issue and it just wasn't worth arguing with them.
I closed my mouth which had been hanging open, and I realized there was no way this guy was going to understand.
"Okay," I said, pocketing the $1.50. I grabbed my gift card, my "zero balance" receipt, and got the flock out of there.
Someone's drawer was going to be $1.50 short that night at the end of her shift. I wondered if they were ever able to figure out why.
And that, my friends, is why the USA is going to hell in a handbasket.
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