I didn’t want boxes sitting on the front stoop all day because: 1) it’s Mexas and they might get jacked and 2) Hubs might see them, with their fancy logos printed all over, and get all happy about the present when I’m not even around to enjoy it.
So I’ve been routing everything to the apartment complex office. Not ideal, but I don’t have a lot of options. I call Thursday morning, at 10 am, to see if any boxes are waiting for me. “No,” says the gem on the other end of the line, “nothing here.”
Ok, nothing at 10 am.
At 1 pm, I get home for lunch, and one of those “missed delivery” notices is on the door. They left it in the office. Score. I know for a fact, however, that no one is in the office at 1 pm, because the entire two person staff vacates the premises every day for two hours right around lunch time. Makes a lot of sense, I know.
I stop at the office as I head back to work, at 1:30 pm. They’re still not back. Whatever. I know a present is there. It’ll keep.
Main Event, Part I, Friday: I leave for work early. I have a lot to accomplish.
First, I go to the office. As soon as I walk in, Office Assistant informs me there’s a package waiting for me.
“I know,” I say, “that’s why I’m here. Is this it?”
It is. I grab the box and walk out of the office. As my hand is pushing the door open, however, OA pipes up with this: “Yeah, it came in around 4:30 yesterday afternoon.”
I slowly turn, incredulous.
I ask her if she is serious. She informs me that she is. I stare at her with a slack jaw and glassy eyes for a moment, then decide any response from me is totally worthless and continue to walk out the door.
Perfectly good lie: wasted. Thank you Mexas.
It’s a collection of hardcore, old school wet-shaving accouterments. Authentic badger-hair lather-brush, personalized ceramic razor/brush holder, and amazingly fragrant (West India Lime) shaving cream which is actual real cream, not that foam-from-a-can stuff, are all from the UK which makes it a million times cooler.
Honestly, the only thing keeping this from being a Homer gift is the fact that I don’t have shaveable facial hair.
Back to the stupid!
Part II: Next, I head to the bank, which is viciously notorious for being horrifically slow. In the 18 months that we’ve lived here, I have never once had a trip to that place that didn’t take more than 20 minutes. Doesn’t matter when, where, how you show up. You will wait. And you will either learn to like it or you will die young from a lifetime of freak-outs at the bank.
As with many aspects of Mexas life, I’ve learned to deal with this. I really can’t change it so I just make do (I’m so wise).
Thus, I show up 30 minutes early. I had a check but I wanted to deposit as cash. There are some things that can snag this operation so here are the pre-bank steps I took (using my previous bank-employment to guide me):
- I checked my account balance beforehand. If you don’t have enough money in your account to cover the check (in the event it bounces) some banks will only do a deposit with a 3-day wait. But we had more than enough to cover the cashing of the check (thank you, job).
- I made sure I signed the check and included my driver’s license in the bundle. Some banks won’t cash a check (even if its for deposit) if it’s not signed and/or you don’t have ID.
- I brought a deposit slip with me, to save the seven minute wait for someone to shoot me out one of those.
- Made sure I had my account number handy, in case I needed it for anything extra. Otherwise, I have to write (or shout) my social security number to random Mexascans. Because that’s how they look stuff like bank account numbers up.
- I was VERY SPECIFIC on the deposit slip. Made sure only “cash” fields were filled out (some banks won’t honor a deposit slip if you write in the wrong fields). Also, I made a special note on the slip, just in case they missed the fields: “Please deposit as cash. Thank you!” (I thought the “Thank You!” would help…)
Needless to say, I was really chuffed with myself for being so prepared. I thought I had a fighting chance of getting out of there in, say, 15 minutes.
Thirteen minutes after I send the check and deposit slip in, a Mexas bank-gem gets on the intercom.
I say hello.
“¡Ma’m! ¡¿You want theeese deposit as katch?!”
Yes, yes I do, I explain. I’m confused about why there’s a question, since the only thing I didn’t do to communicate that was send in neon-lighted billboards and a troupe of “please, cash” clowns.
“¡Ma’m! ¡We caaaan doo thaad, ma’m!”
I stare at the intercom for a moment. Then I reply, “You can’t do that?”
“¡Yis ma’m! ¡We caaaan doo thaad, ma’m! ¡Eets bekaas eets a check, ma’m!”
I wait a tic. I repeat back to her (“echo” is actually a very effective way to communicate in a bilingual community, FYI) and she affirms that I have it right. They won’t do a cash deposit, because it’s a check, not cash. So I wait a tic. I can hear her breathing.
“Okay,” I say, buying some time, “how about this: can you cash the check out for me?”
I’m trying to help. I want her to feel like she is in control, and that the obvious fix is her idea.
“¡Yis, ma’m! ¡I caaan katch theeese check for you! ¡¿You want me to katch?!”
I wait another tic. I’m providing more time, you see.
“Seriously?” I ask.
She is slightly confused, but yes. Seriously.
So, giving the first attempt and the paperwork that went along with it up for lost, I ask her to also send out some fresh deposit slips when she sends out the cash. She happily agrees and signs off. I still maintain some hope that it clicks. After all, it takes a while for anything to come back to me.
Five minutes later, though, a huge wad of cash and some blank deposit slips zoom out. I fill out another deposit slip, which looks EXACTLY THE SAME as the first one, and send it back up the tube with the wad of cash.
Another thirteen minutes later, proof of my cash deposit appears.