Friday, June 26, 2015

No Way To Run A Business

When I hold the ribbon-cutting for my proposed handbasket factory, I am going to be chomping at the bit to get down to the brass tacks of wooden handbaskets. I will be the best businesswoman who ever businessed. I am NOT going to schedule an upgrade of my computer system on the last Friday of June, when quarterly reports are due to be mailed imminently. No sirreee, Bob! That would be spiting my face by cutting off my nose.

Even Steven sure has a warped sense of humor. Today was Farmer H's payday by direct deposit. It's not like the Mansion is running in the red until that cash is electronically ready. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has stockpiled all of her summer checks to ride out the drought until her contract makes it rain again in September. But since it's bill-paying Friday, Mrs. HM called that bank account automated number to find out the amount of Farmer H's check to balance the checkbook before the outgoing money was recorded.

Funny how Farmer H had made FOUR purchases on the debit card last weekend and had not notified the Mansion accountess. At least he didn't charge a tractor. So...Mrs. HM straightened out that mess, and set off to deposit some college savings for The Pony, and drop off a quadruple payment on the Mansion. Sounds simple, eh?

As I entered the office to pay for future knowledge, a man walked out with a computer tower under his arm. Maybe it was more of a box than a tower. The man looked all proper and British, without the bowler hat, kind of like a dapper Dick Van Dyke. There was no van awaiting him. No panel truck. Not even a handcart which is called a dolly around these parts. Off he went, up to the crosswalk (told you he was proper) and across the street. Even Steven should make a note-to-self: "Hit Mrs. Hillbilly Mom over the head with foreshadowing in the future."

I skipped into the vestibule and pulled open the door to gain access to one of the two teller windows encased with bullet-proof glass. You'd think our credit union was located in Bankrobberville. We could even have our own song. "Dodging bullets again in Bankrobberville. Looking for my lost pi-int of blood. Some people say there's a pistol to blame. But I know it's my own bulletproofglassless window's fault."

Three workers were standing behind one window, so I went there. A high-level muckety-muck, a mid-manager, and a kid who graduated with Genius. They were all discombobulated in their own way. The HLMM was on the phone, telling somebody the computer system was being switched out, so she couldn't look up the balance. Then she grabbed a tall stack of printouts that I swear looked like they were on that dot-matrix tractor paper and thumbed through and gave some info. The MM traipsed over to the other window, so I followed like a kitten trying to touch noses with itself along a series of wall mirrors. Nope. MM reversed like a duck in a state fair midway shooting gallery as soon as I got to the other window. The KWGWG sat there looking uncomfortable, waiting for a sign from his uppers.

Finally he took my check and wrote out a receipt. WROTE OUT BY HAND. Not even a dot-matrixed tractor-paper printout in yellow like usual. Showing no balance. And the HLMM said, "Here, KWGWG. Let me get you some paperclips to hold your transactions together." Seriously. This was at NOON! Not like they hadn't had since 8:00 to come up with a system. That sock buried in the back yard is looking more viable every day as a savings option.

When we got to the next town to pay on the Mansion, nobody was manning the drive-thru. It was like "The Langoliers." The lights were on. But nobody was around. Thank the Gummi Mary nobody was slumped into a bowl of soup after succumbing to Captain Trips. Finally the regular drive-thru lady appeared. She's the one who looks like my high school shorthand teacher. At least I got a regular printed yellow receipt from her.

We won't dwell on the wad of paper money I got back in change for my strawberry slush at Sonic.

When Mrs. Hillbilly Mom takes over the world, customers at her handbasket factory will find it always stocked with employees. Emplyees who give back itemized printed receipts and/or paper money. Paper money all facing the same direction, without crumples or tears.


Sioux said...

Give me some notice when you take over the world. I figure, that will be the right time to retire, because couldn't I be your right hand person? Or your court jester?

Hillbilly Mom said...

I might be able to find a position for you in my proposed handbasket factory. You could walk along the massive line of people waiting to get in to place an order, and tell them stories about offing David Cassidy's first wife. I would equip you with a basket of Chex Mix to hand out and get the future customers hooked.