* * * A few months ago, I visited the local Dress Barn, because I was between appointments and needed to kill some time. While I was there, I bought some jeans and a shirt that were several sizes too small for me, with the intention of taking progress pictures in them (which y’all won’t be allowed to see until I actually fit into the jeans and shirt, so don’t even ask). As I was checking out, the sales clerk told me that if I applied for a Dress Barn credit card, I’d save 20% on the entire purchase. So I went ahead and applied for it, saved 20% on the entire purchase, and promptly forgot about it. Until a few weeks later when the credit card appeared in the mail. I looked it over, decided to keep it rather than cancelling it, and stuck it in my desk drawer on my “things to deal with later” pile. Last week, I rediscovered it in my desk drawer, I decided to call and have it “activated.” Now, it’s been my experience in the past that when you call to have a credit card activated, you end up with an automated system, you enter a few numbers, and they activate it. Only this time when I called to activate this particular card, I entered the credit card number and my home phone, and had to wait while I was connected to an operator. She asked me a few questions, then started in on this fucking sales spiel wherein I could register all my credit cards with some program, and if a card was ever stolen, all I’d have to do is call them, and they’d take care of it! (Or some shit like that.) I listened politely for a few minutes, and then said “I’m not interested.” Which to ME means “I’m not interested,” but to the operator apparently was code for “I might be interested. Try harder!” So the operator took a deep breath and said “Ma’am, are you aware that there are 25,000 instances of identity theft every day?” To my current chagrin, instead of responding with “Are you aware that 80% of all statistics are made up and have no numbers to back them up whatsoever, so what I suspect is that you pulled that number out of your ass”, I said “I. Am. Not. Interested.” AND SHE CONTINUED TRYING TO SELL ME ON THE FUCKING PROGRAM. As if Dress Barn wouldn’t be making enough money off of me with their ridiculously high interest rate. I managed to finally convey to her that I was completely, totally uninterested, could not be LESS interested, NO THANK YOU, and she told me she’d “activate” my card, and I was able to get off the phone, but I wish in retrospect that I’d just told her to cancel the fucking account. I know it’s not her fault, she was just doing her job, but it really PISSES ME OFF when a company who is going to be making money off you anyway proceeds to try to get every last fucking penny out of you that they possibly can. And I KNOW people fall for it, and THAT just pisses me off even more. I think I’m going to cancel the fucking card, because I don’t even need the damn thing ANYWAY, and I’m going to include a letter detailing exactly why I’m cancelling it. Fuckers.
Now, Tubby:
Very similar, no? No wonder I’ve been calling Tommy “Tommy Tubs” lately. (But then, I’ve also been calling him “Timmy Toms” too, so that might not mean anything.)
The Booger, in a pissy mood.
Brudderly love.
“Hellew.”
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.