It was a cloudy day today. I love cloudy days. Sure, I need the sun as much as other people, and there have been times when it wouldn't be out for a week and I'd go mad. But sometimes the sun is so hot as to be oppressive. The clouds, to me, oftentimes represent a security blanket for me as I drive around. It's not only cooler with no sun, but nothing gives me glare that blinds me. Maybe that's why I love overcast skies. So when I was driving around today doing errands, I actually felt kind of good.
But then I actually went through my day.
I first went to my friend's house. He's kind of in bad shape; a couple weeks ago he fell down and fractured his right arm. Since his job is typing and answering phones and generally using his arms, he's out of work for the next month. I'm worried for his money flow and his job. He gave me tickets to the next two Wolves games we planned on going to together. If I can't find somebody, hopefully I can scalp his.
I had to go over to AAA headquarters for help in figuring out how to fill out the claim form I received yesterday. But before I did that, I decided I needed a little pick-me-up. I debated about calling Amber after I was done, but I thought that if I could talk to her beforehand and clear everything up -- or, even better, if she said she was turned on by me cock -- I would feel better going into AAA. Instead, I got her voicemail, and I'm afraid I rambled on and on about being sorry if she was offended. I invited her to call me back; hope she does. But maybe she saw my name and has decided to ignore me. Maybe she told?
I like clouds but I don't like rain, and it was starting to come down hard when I walked across the parking lot without a hat on into AAA. I was greeted by someone who thought my last name was my first. Then she told me she was having trouble finding my policy. When she looked at my card she figured it out: My policy isn't with AAA ... even though the AAA logo is on the insurance policy. Something about the ... oh, I don't fucking know what she meant, bottom line is these guys don't have my insurance.
But I needed to bitch to someone anyway, so I told her my plight. I hold up the claim form. "Does this mean I'm screwed?"
"Probably," she said.
Fuck. I am running out of money as it is now, but this just about kills me. I was afraid of this: the rental car company gouging me through the nose for damage and taking advantage of every single word in the fine print to wring more money out of my checking account. They're just scuff marks, for fuck's sake!!! You can probably drive it around now!!!
I should've stayed quiet. I should've stayed quiet! Why did I think I had to announce this to them? They might not have noticed, and I could be home, scott free towels, but now I have to fill this out and wait for them to fuck me in the ass. And it's Alamo, too! I use these guys all the time while I'm down in St. Louis! Now I can't use them anymore because they fucked with me.
The insurance agent who was not my insurance agent did give me some advice. There is a lot of danger in filing a claim because you will all your discounts and be painted as someone unreliable. There's another thing that I didn't realize until I went through this meeting: I told my parents, whose names head my policy, that I wasn't renting a car in the Loo. (I always seem to remember things only when I'm about to do something serious that requires me to focus. That's when this fog I subconsciously bring down on me lifts; I literally stop forgetting. It's been that way ever since I was young.) Now it's clear: Under no circumstances can I put a claim on this because my parents will find out. But now I'm afraid that the amount I'm quoting for buffing out scuff marks on a Bug -- come on, it's just godddamn scuff marks!!! -- makes that decision untenable.
Called Alamo; they don't have the estimate yet. Hey, maybe they don't care. God, why am I trying to fool myself?
Got a voicemail. Hey, it's Amber? No, it's not! It's even worse than Amber yelling at me, telling me my dick is small even for an Asian man, and threatening to tell everyone what I did and ordering her regulars to kick my ass. It's my boss at the personal care agency, you know, the one job I actually have. My PCA hours, which were cut almost in half by the nurse assessing my Grandmother, was sent to the insurance company -- which halved them again. If this stands, the hours I get paid for taking care of my Grandmother will be cut by 70%. Ah, fuck no.
She told me to call the insurance agency (I want to name it but I do not want to piss them off) and appeal; after she gave me a non-working number and then the fax number -- idiot -- I left a message. That's when I realized that I had been stuck in my car, in the parking lot of AAA, a place where I thought my insurance was when it was actually a different AAA (huh?), in the middle of a rainstorm, making long calls that didn't resolve a single goddamn thing. I was playing office in my parked car for a half-hour. I guess I could be stuck in worse places, but I was very fucking unproductive.
Just to make sure I haven't lost all my bearings, I checked my day planner. Once again, now that I'm in motion of doing something, the veil of forgetfulness lifts. When I opened up my Franklin Quest, I had a suspicion I forgot something, and I did: my dental appointment, the one I had planned for a month. All the shit I've had to deal with ever since I came back -- the fucking phantom damage to the rental, my loss of a paycheck, My Fucking Father rearranging my room without fucking telling me -- I'm using all of them as excuses that I was too goddamn depressed to remember something I had scheduled four weeks ago. I called the U.; thank Buddha they don't charge for not cancelling in time, although they have a three-strikes-and-you're-out policy (specifically, you're barred from the dental department for a year if you do it three times). Fingers crossed that I'm not this suicidal April 12!
The insurance company returned my call while I was drinking coffee. While pleading my case that my PCA hours need to remain as high as they do now, the barista was grinding coffee and making small talk with the customers. Did she hear that? Is she thinking that, if I'm complaining so much about needing to take care of my Grandmother, I should be at home taking care of her instead of being at a coffeeshop? (My ready-made excuse: I'm off the clock, and when I left her she seemed OK.) Just my luck, she'll use that against me when she denies my appeal. At least this appeal means I'll be on our current number of hours -- no decrease in hours according to either the nurse or the insurance company -- until they rule. The person taking my appeal seemed nice, but ... she works for an insurance company. She's evil.
I'm fucking at the end of my rope. It's this claim that's over my head like the Sword of Damocles. I have to tighten my belt -- well, after I fill up my gas tank the next couple days; is it going to dip below $2.75 tomorrow? -- but the damages I'm not going to be able to wiggle out of is going to blow a permanent hole in whatever money I have left. It's like God is punishing me for something. I don't know for what, I don't think it's for exposing myself to strippers, and I don't know how I'm going to get out of this. I wish I could just stay in my bed and not spend money, but that's impossible with all the tournament games and committments I made to friends the rest of this month.
And where the hell is my tabs reminder? Goddamn you, Father.
---
So before dinner I go on facebook one more time. There's that guy from high school friending me. Like the other "frenemy," the one I eventually added, I have no fucking idea why he thinks I'm his friend. Unlike this other "frenemy" though, this guy owes me money. I don't remember since this was from high school, but it's between $30 and $50. It's part of a very elaborate NBA playoff pool he agreed to be a part of. I paid out to the winner but didn't get the losers to pay their share, and this fucking asshole was one of them.
Do I want to let bygones be bygones? You know, we were in high school. And maybe he forgot. Maybe this veil of forgetfulness troubles him too. In the end, however, I have to stand by my principles. Plus, I'm about to be broke. So if you walk into my life, be prepared to settle debts. Instead of confirming him, I told him he owed me thirty bucks. I'm an asshole, but I goddamn I will not be pushed around. Not now.
So let's see what he's said on my facebook. ... OK, he doesn't remember, but he's not being a dick about it. He wanted me to explain.
I hope this doesn't get ugly. I just didn't want to give in again.
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