This happened a few hours ago. In spite of my project to create a self-sustaining business project I cannot do alone, I'm still involved daily in the mundane needs of the family.
Once it happened, I laughed and went to the pool for a while.
I came back to write about it. I was prepared to write a rant...
300 or so words into it, and it was good. ...That is, the rant was vitriolic. Then I come to grips: I'm not even into the story, yet, but I have your evil granny holding up everyone in line while writing a check at the supermarket. Good for me.
...Actually, I didn't really. I just made that up. But I did have all the bankers in chocks on the public square. And I was sparing no lashes for all the people out there—Americans mostly—who think they have a decent banking system. It's the worst in the world and an American can't even easily get a bank account in another country. I had to use an agent to bribe a bank to get me an account. The IRS. All countries. All banks. Hate them. Perfectly good reasons.
...I took a break. Specifically, I got on my motorbike, rode about 8 minutes, sat down at Roxane Bar, and Denny from Chicago was there. I like him because he's as roughly rambunctious as I am. After the preliminary pleasantries, he pulls out a smoke.