Thursday, April 06, 2006

[FAK THE] Community Bank



Attn: Harry Wardwell, Senior VP, Branch Admin
PO Box 450, 301 Main Street
Salinas, CA 93902
Phone: (831) 757-2274 x446
Fax: (831) 759-8593




As the premier local bank for Monterey County, Community Bank of Central California combines the highest level of personal attention with outstanding banking products and services.
"U.S. Banker" magazine (July 2003 issue) ranks Community Bank as one of the best-performing mid-sized financial institutions in the nation! The Bank has also received the Findley Reports' highest rating of "Super Premier Performing Bank" for thirteen years straight, 20 consecutive "Five-Star Ratings" from Bauer Financial Reports and the Blue Ribbon award from Veribanc, Inc. Added together, these are extraordinary achievements in banking, unmatched by any other financial institution in Monterey County. [If this is unmatched banking in Monterey County, then someone needs to shoot me in my fakking face.]







Let me tell you a tale of financial woe. It starts way back when big banks started taking over our cute little banks in downtown Salinas. I can't even remember what our first bank was called, but it got taken out a few times before Washington Mutual finally rested its fat ass on the spot. Washington Mutual is one of those heartless institutions that gives you a $35 charge for asking why you got a $35 charge in the first place. The place has no spirit and no heart whatsoever. I wish they'd filmed HEAT there. I love it when DeNiro socks that bank manger in the face and sits him down and tells him to let it bleed. I'm gonna go cue up that scene and watch it real quick before I finish posting this.

*back* So we moved up the street a bit to Bank of America. Now you know we had to be slumming to pull a move like that. B of A is one of those big, mean-spirited corporations bent on handing out barbed wire enemas to whomever it is that steps to them. I musta dropped 2-300 dollars in service charges to those fools. Every time, I could poke a hole in why I had been saddled with such a charge. I could put my fist through the hole and flip a flool off. But hey, when you are up against a corporation, and the lackey on the other end of the phone-line says that he is sorry and invites you to have a good weekend, there is little you can do. Sure, I can bark at him and ask to speak to his superior (and God as my witness, I did this several times) but the bottom line is that they get their kicks by handing out $35 service charges. THEY GET THEIR KICKS DOING IT, MAN. Once you realize that they are getting financial wood off of your woes, it all comes into focus. Then you have to think about moving on. You also have to think about turning your self defense into some offense.

So we did think about moving on. We started to screw back. I am not even going to mention my damned fluctuating interest rates on my damn Bank of America credit card. Late payments were nebulous. If I posted them online by midnight, it was their discretion whether it was going to be called a late payment or not. More often than naught, it would be, because then suddenly we would be at 35% or something ridiculous. This last month when I was in Missouri was the last straw. I was long distance, calling from a hotel room trying to get someone to make a transfer from my chequing account to my Visa in order to bypass the late charge/interest increase that these bastards like to throw down. They put me on hold until their office closed. I hung up and called back, and I got the "our office is currently closed" recording. Furthermore, the episode of the Sopranos on HBO was the lamest thing I may have seen in this millenium. Bad night.

Oh yeah, self defense to the offense? Check this out: I ain't paying my Visa bill. B of A can roll that stuff up and jam it up their collective corporate sphincters. I have hit up a debt consolodation company and I will pay them $900 to tell B of A that their sick-ass interest rates inflicted upon yours truly is something that they will never get their soft-palmed hands on. These lawyers are going to get B of A the principal and that will be that. I am glad to do it too. I am on a 2 year plan that is going to wash my hands of this trash. I feel like Priest when he tells Reardon that he has hired white killers to take out the Reardon family if Priest so much as chokes on a chicken bone. Credit rating? Like I am going to be buying a house in the near future? A start-up here in Salinas is going for $400, 000. Actually, if I find a house for $400,ooo it would be something condemned. FAK A CREDIT RATING. Plus, the white killers/lawyers that I have hired will have my credit rating back on track after I get done paying off the principal with the bitches at B of A.

So we pulled out our anchor and went deeper into oldtown Salinas for a new account. The Community Bank. Did you read the title of today's blog? FAK THE COMMUNITY BANK. Let me break it down for you with the kind of sickness that'll make you reach for some Tums. We started the new account almost 5 weeks ago. I have yet to get my bank card from these tricks. Yes, I said trick, like prostitute. That's what banks are, prostitutes. I totally get it now. What does that make me? A very excited pubic lice. But I digress. At first I was excited to get a new account and get my financial game back on track. And damnation, wouldncha know I expecting a raise too (which I just got yesterday)? It seems like the perfect time to have a new bank and clear up some of my ugly financial cobwebs. Well, that ain't the freaking case. Jeremy, the kid who fired up the account, forgot to submit our bank card request forms.

So, no chequing card yet. But hey, I have cheques. Those stellar employees at the Community Bank hooked us up with some generic looking things that I have to fill my name and address out on. I am serious, they look like the play cheques that my parents used to have us fill out in order to get our allowance [remember that Casson? Remember how the bank never had your money when you wanted it? EXACTLY]. I went to Nob Hill last week to write a cheque and I was deserted by my teller who ran off to the manager. The manager played the shell game where he looks at me from five aisles over and determines if I look like I am good for the hundred eighty I am skating the cheque for. I was rolling with Matt too, and Matt was rocking the facial piercings that prompted the 50-something bagger make a comment on pain. Fortunately, the manager and I happen to talk about trivia every time that I run into him. Nob Hill was a success.

Staples was not. Yzzy wanted an MP3 player. Yz had found an ad in the Sunday paper and was ready for the bigtime. She showed me the ad, and I gave it the glanceover. I had no idea where there was a Staples, but she went into the Yellow Pages and figured it out. She had done her homework, and she'd dug into her drumset savings for the thing. I was down to back her up. Yzzy's favorite song for a long time was ANGEL OF DEATH by SLAYER. The kid needs her music, and any little girl of mine that can appreciate showers that cleanse you of your life deserves a fakking MP3 player POINT BLANK. She handed me the cash and sent me on my befuddled way. I figured I would do it on a break from work the next day. Then I had the bright idea that since I DON'T HAVE A FREAKING CHEQUE CARD that I would pocket the cash and write a cheque. Staples pulled a sick-assed 1, 2 knockout combo on me on Monday. The first was that there is a rebate, so the advertised price was technically wrong. Yzzy hadn't given me enough cash. The second was that the lady (who had a moustache BTW) wouldn't accept my cheque because I had to write my name on it in the address section. Doesn't California law require that cheques be accepted no matter what? Ohhhhhh snaps. I just thought about the racist angle of the moustachioed lady. Poor Yzbiz. She had to wait another day. I had to hit her up for twenty more bones and keep my fingers crossed for the next day that Staples hadn't sold out. I was able to drop the cash at Staples, and moustache had to go into the warehouse and find the thing. It was satisfying to drop cash. It was good to teach Yzzy how to load up music from my 20 gig file. Bt the problem is that I CANNOT ACCESS MY CASH. I work in Monterey, and my money is in Silly nuts. FAK THE COMMUNITY BANK.

Today is Saturday. My wife went in there and demanded the damn cards earlier this week. Those clowns have had 20 business days to get me my damn card. NO SOAP. Payday is coming up and I am going to Wells Fargo if something doesn't shape up soon.

That, or keeping it all under my bed, old school style.

My opinion? See the fakking title of this fakking blog.

*edit* it is 4 days since I blogged this and still no bank cards. FAK 'EM IN THEY STUPID ACES.