Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie

Interlude: Wherein I Talk About Banking
First Union. That’s the original name of my old bank. I used to call them First Onion, because every time I read my bank statement I wanted to cry. Bankers, they’re always charging you extra for something.
I started banking with them way back in 1992. In 1997 they were nice enough to loan me the money to buy a brand new car. The Geekmobile. It was paid for when I wrecked it.
At some point they changed their name to Wachovia. I didn’t like it. Sounds like they are going to walk all over ya. My checks always have my full name on them. Kenneth G. Donnelly. I like it that way. I think it has a nice ring to it. If I become a published author someday that will be my handle. Kenneth G. Donnelly
When I became homeless in the summer of 2006, I closed my account with Wachovia.
Later that year, when I had money coming in again it was in my best interest to open a new account, and I decided to bank elsewhere.
Before I opened an account I had one conversation about banking, and I named specifically what bank I would be doing business with. I was talking with the aforementioned Mike Hardegree.
I chose Washington Mutual because they have a branch in down town Clearwater at 511 S. Fort Harrison Ave Clearwater, FL 33756. It’s convenient for a homeless bum like me.
My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly, but I never tell anyone what the G in my name stands for. It’s kind of faggotty.
When I went to open my account at Washington Mutual, they said I had to put my full name on my Checks. The entire thing spelled out. So if I owe you money, and I have some, and I write you a check the name you will see is: Kenneth Gerard Donnelly.
Now why the fuck would I want to be sending people checks with my full name spelled out in its entirety? Why?
Why did the good folks at Washington Mutual insist that I spell out my full name on my checks? I swear the answer they gave me was that it was standard business practice since the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks and that I had no choice in the matter. What the fuck?
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This next bit in no way absolves Mercury Insurance, its management, or employees, specifically Jack Daugherty, Scott Villwock, Mike Murphy, et. el responsibility in what amounts to extreme continued relentless psychological harassment leading to severe emotional pain suffering and trauma.
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Did I mention that some asshole probably posing as law enforcement invaded my privacy, violated all of my civil liberties, harassed me into impotence, and homelessness?
Yeah, freedom isn’t free. You don’t have to tell me. I know. I’ve fought my own war right here in the United States of America.
One morning, I think it was a Saturday, Washington Mutual you gotta love’em they’re open from 9 to 1 on Saturday’s, I was depositing a check and they dosed me with dick juice. I swear I am not making this up. The guy … the teller handed my a little receipt, it’s printed with a pin code, I carry it over to the little “ATM” punch in my code and I wind up with 70 dollars and a huge fucking hard on. Now I needed the $70. I can’t lie.
But what the fuck is up with the boner at the fucking bank? What in gods name am I going to do with a fucking hard on …at the fucking bank? What?
There was this cute guy working at the Washington Mutual on S. Fort Harrison. He had dark hair. Dark skin. He was Hispanic, but I don’t think he was Mexican. He had a cute butt. But what the fuck was I supposed to do hit on him? Bend him over the teller machine and fuck him right there?
When I left the bank that Saturday morning, despite my freaking wood, I was practically running!
You don’t believe me do you? But it’s true. Otherwise why would I bother dragging my banks into this sorted little ditty?
I still bank with Washington Mutual. WaMu as they like to call them selves. At WaMu you never get cash from the teller. The teller pints out a receipt and you take it over to a little machine, something like and ATM, punch in a pin and get cash.