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?
****
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.
****
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.
Showing posts with label Money Million Irish Catholic Mercury Insurance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Money Million Irish Catholic Mercury Insurance. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
Interlude: Retractions, thoughts on hitting the big 4-0.
I won’t name any names at this time, but people are once again implying paranoid schizophrenia. I have issues. Everyone does. I am not a paranoid schizophrenic.
Let’s take a look at the story I told about Ellie Ardalani. Remove the money from the story and the story is still true. Forget I mentioned the bonus money. I worked in an office with a woman who couldn’t stand me simply because I could not blow a little Irish Catholic Sunshine up her ass. (I’m not even sure there is such a thing as Irish Catholic Sunshine).
I’m willing to remove the money from the story because we had 4 hurricanes in Florida one year. Mercury Insurance had been writing home owners insurance policies and it’s possible that they took a pretty good loss when Charley, Ivan, Frances, and Jeanne blew through town.
I started writing my story because I had to, and because I knew that someone would be reading it. I wanted someone to read it, otherwise why would I have bothered to write it.
I have one other retraction. My grandmother on my father’s side of the family passed away in November of 2005, not 2006 as I may have mentioned in the Peanut Butter Confessions.
I’m standing by everything else in the story with no other retractions of any kind.
My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I was born July 3, 1967. Do you know what they called that summer? They called it the summer of love.
Turning 40 was easy. Thinking about turning 40 was the hard part! I dreaded it for years.
You know what I wanted for my 40th birthday? I wanted to weigh 145 lbs. I wanted to be physically fit. I almost made it. My 40th birthday came and went with no notice by anyone at all, and I was a little sad about that, but mostly I was just relieved. Thank god I didn’t have to look at those black balloons you see around offices sometimes when someone turns 40. Over the hill!
Over the hill my ass!
I can’t tell you if I made my goal weight because I no longer have a bathroom scale and the reason I no longer have a bathroom scale is because I no longer have a bathroom. In July of 2006 I became a homeless man. Three days shy of my 39th birthday I lost everything. Hell I’m sitting here writing this in a public library, and I’m wearing some other guy’s clothes. The only things I have that are truly mine now are my thoughts.
Being homeless is just like living in a third world country, only every once in a while you get to visit the United States of America and you don’t have to get on a plane.
I won’t name any names at this time, but people are once again implying paranoid schizophrenia. I have issues. Everyone does. I am not a paranoid schizophrenic.
Let’s take a look at the story I told about Ellie Ardalani. Remove the money from the story and the story is still true. Forget I mentioned the bonus money. I worked in an office with a woman who couldn’t stand me simply because I could not blow a little Irish Catholic Sunshine up her ass. (I’m not even sure there is such a thing as Irish Catholic Sunshine).
I’m willing to remove the money from the story because we had 4 hurricanes in Florida one year. Mercury Insurance had been writing home owners insurance policies and it’s possible that they took a pretty good loss when Charley, Ivan, Frances, and Jeanne blew through town.
I started writing my story because I had to, and because I knew that someone would be reading it. I wanted someone to read it, otherwise why would I have bothered to write it.
I have one other retraction. My grandmother on my father’s side of the family passed away in November of 2005, not 2006 as I may have mentioned in the Peanut Butter Confessions.
I’m standing by everything else in the story with no other retractions of any kind.
My name is Kenneth G. Donnelly and I was born July 3, 1967. Do you know what they called that summer? They called it the summer of love.
Turning 40 was easy. Thinking about turning 40 was the hard part! I dreaded it for years.
You know what I wanted for my 40th birthday? I wanted to weigh 145 lbs. I wanted to be physically fit. I almost made it. My 40th birthday came and went with no notice by anyone at all, and I was a little sad about that, but mostly I was just relieved. Thank god I didn’t have to look at those black balloons you see around offices sometimes when someone turns 40. Over the hill!
Over the hill my ass!
I can’t tell you if I made my goal weight because I no longer have a bathroom scale and the reason I no longer have a bathroom scale is because I no longer have a bathroom. In July of 2006 I became a homeless man. Three days shy of my 39th birthday I lost everything. Hell I’m sitting here writing this in a public library, and I’m wearing some other guy’s clothes. The only things I have that are truly mine now are my thoughts.
Being homeless is just like living in a third world country, only every once in a while you get to visit the United States of America and you don’t have to get on a plane.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Confessions of A Peanut Butter Junkie
The people at Mercury Insurance started to drug me. I swear I am not making this up.
How do I know this? I know this because from 2002 until April 2005 I worked for Mercury Insurance at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762, and from about December of 2003 I had been completely impotent. I only mention the impotence, because while I was at work I started to pop some really great boners. Erections again. At last! Yeah for my team! Only it totally freaked me out because I knew that they were spiking Ken’s coffee, or slipping me the Mickey – you know a little something /something in my bottled water or whatever.
I told you that I had fallen in love with someone at work and that it was painful to see them every day. I told you that I didn’t really want to be in love with them but that I was.
I had fallen in love with someone who was way too young for me. But if I am the first idiot on Earth to fall into this trap I really do want my freaking trophy. That’s the real reason I stopped by the trophy store the morning that my old man called me the trashcan man.
At Mercury Insurance the real boss was a guy named Jack Daugherty. He was the guy at the top. Jack looked like he was about 12 years old. I swear I am not making this up. He was almost always dressed in a suit. He was THE MAN after all, but he always looked like he was about 12 years old to me. I heard a rumor that he went to Harvard, but I never saw a degree and I never asked him about it. I was tempted once or twice. I once walked into Jack’s office on the top floor of Mercury Insurance wearing a pair of rubber gloves and a mask. The kind of mask you would wear if you were painting the house or working with fiberglass. I think I even handed him a file to get his signature. He didn’t say a word. What do you say to a guy who works in your office and walks around wearing rubber gloves and a mask? But they were poisoning me with something and my solution was simple. I didn’t leave any drinks at my desk unattended. I didn’t eat any food that was not individually wrapped and sealed. I wore rubber gloves and a mask.
I wore surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. At work. I had to. They were poisoning me.
Think of how much of a prisoner you would be if you were impotent and someone at work slipped a little Viagra into your coffee or your bottled water? I mean I wanted the boner-don’t get me wrong, but at work? What the fuck was I going to do with a raging hard on at work? I’ve mentioned that when I was healthy I would jerk off at least once a day. I’ve mentioned that I looked at porn and never even gave it a thought.
I never did any of these things at work. The same way I never use curse words at work. I am polite to the point that people often mock me or parody me, and my politeness and I just take it as a complement. Please and thank you. They mean something to me. Excuse me. Pardon me. These are things that I say. I have never used or abused the Internet at work. Not at any job. Including Mercury Insurance. What I did in the privacy of my own home was my own business.
What they did to me right there at Mercury Insurance 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762 is just unforgivable.
But I dug in. I made my stand. And the gloves and mask really helped. They really did.
“Why are you wearing gloves and a mask?” One of the Johns asked me. I think I was standing at the printer sorting through the pile of printed documents.
“Well,” I said. “I’m thinking about becoming a proctologist. I mean if I’m going to be working with so many ass holes. Why the fuck not?”
By this time the man in charge of the Bodily Injury Department was a guy named Scott Villwock. He was from Wisconsin, but he had the good sense to support the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
The gloves and the mask really angered old Scott Villwock. He actually called me into his office for one of those uncomfortable talks that bosses will give now and again. You know a one on one that is essentially a disciplinary action.
Scott had the annoying habit of mentioning the CIA all the time. And by CIA…I mean that CIA the Central Intelligence Agency. I could never figure out if this fool thought I was with the CIA or if he was trying to imply that he was. I do remember thinking, “I don’t care if you’re with the entire alphabet and half of fucking Sesame Street you stupid asshole.”
Scott would often ask me if I had any guns at home. Even before they started dosing me with boner juice and I started to come to work wearing surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. Scott had a college education but apparently he could not master the technology of the Internet or read a map. How do I know this? I know this because one day Scott came up to me and all but forced me to show him the location of a place called Breezy Point.
It’s in New York out by Rockaway. It is the location of my grandfather’s summer home.
Yeah, old Scott Villwock he pulls out a map or an atlas or something and the fucking fool makes me point to Breezy Point on a map. What a genius this guy is. And he’s running the department that I work in. Ain’t life grand?
Scott would often shout, “Pound the Rock. Pound the Rock,” across the office.
Apparently it’s a Tampa Bay Buccaneers thing. I counted my blessings. At least he wasn’t walking around the office with a Green Bay cheese wedge on his head!
No matter how many times I assured Scott Villwock that I do not own any guns, or even enjoy guns, the look of fear in his eyes never went away. Scott was always somewhat afraid of me. If the guy had any guts at all he used them all up the day he fired me.
Me, I’m not so sure I have guts, but man have I got the biggest set of balls.
The only thing that was certain at Mercury Insurance is that you would be moving. From desk to desk. Floor to floor. Whole departments. The company was going through a growth period and whole departments were moved on a weekly bases. You just never really knew where you were going to be sitting or even on what floor. I stopped counting how many times I moved at 6. And I was there for just over 3 years counting the beginning of my employment as a temp.
For all my talk about being in love with someone at work the truth is I hardly ever saw this person. They were not in my department and were often floors away. But I usually got to see the person I think of as “other Murphy” at least once a day. In the beginning anyway. Why “other Murphy”? See I had the Mike Murphy that I didn’t like so much and the “other Murphy” that I liked a lot.
Now I know why they call it falling in love. Turns out love is the bottomless pit. You just keep falling.
Other Murphy would show up at my desk about once a day because I would process the expense checks for the Bodily Injury adjusters, and they would print somewhere else in the building. Other Murphy would deliver the checks at about the same time each day.
I can’t even remember what department Other Murphy worked in. Something to do with fraud or fraudulent claims.
The point is Other Murphy didn’t actually work with me.
But the company had us all moving around all the time. And in the end Other Murphy wound up sitting just a few desks away from me. And that’s when they stared dosing me with boner juice. I have no idea what they expected my reaction to be, but I thought my solution was brilliant. Gloves and a mask.
But Scott Villwock did not like my solution. So he calls me into his office and tells me that I can not wear the gloves or the mask because they are creating a distraction in the workplace that is effecting productivity. I’m trying to avoid being dosed with boner juice and this idiot has to go and mention productivity.
I took the gloves and the mask off. It was work with out them or not work at all.
That’s when they started to poison me with something else. I have no clue what this stuff is, but here’s what it does. It puts and odd sensation into my throat. It…almost feels like I’m coming down with a cold. It brings on the worst insomnia. And when I do fall asleep it’s NOT normal natural healthy sleep. It’s like passing out. No dreams of any kind. It’s like being dead…only with a heartbeat. When I get out of bed in the morning I feel the exact opposite of what a human being is supposed to feel after waking. I do not feel refreshed. I feel worn out. See now they just want me to fucking quit. But I just won’t. I will not quit.
So they decided to murder me instead. I swear I am not making this up.
How do I know this? I know this because from 2002 until April 2005 I worked for Mercury Insurance at 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762, and from about December of 2003 I had been completely impotent. I only mention the impotence, because while I was at work I started to pop some really great boners. Erections again. At last! Yeah for my team! Only it totally freaked me out because I knew that they were spiking Ken’s coffee, or slipping me the Mickey – you know a little something /something in my bottled water or whatever.
I told you that I had fallen in love with someone at work and that it was painful to see them every day. I told you that I didn’t really want to be in love with them but that I was.
I had fallen in love with someone who was way too young for me. But if I am the first idiot on Earth to fall into this trap I really do want my freaking trophy. That’s the real reason I stopped by the trophy store the morning that my old man called me the trashcan man.
At Mercury Insurance the real boss was a guy named Jack Daugherty. He was the guy at the top. Jack looked like he was about 12 years old. I swear I am not making this up. He was almost always dressed in a suit. He was THE MAN after all, but he always looked like he was about 12 years old to me. I heard a rumor that he went to Harvard, but I never saw a degree and I never asked him about it. I was tempted once or twice. I once walked into Jack’s office on the top floor of Mercury Insurance wearing a pair of rubber gloves and a mask. The kind of mask you would wear if you were painting the house or working with fiberglass. I think I even handed him a file to get his signature. He didn’t say a word. What do you say to a guy who works in your office and walks around wearing rubber gloves and a mask? But they were poisoning me with something and my solution was simple. I didn’t leave any drinks at my desk unattended. I didn’t eat any food that was not individually wrapped and sealed. I wore rubber gloves and a mask.
I wore surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. At work. I had to. They were poisoning me.
Think of how much of a prisoner you would be if you were impotent and someone at work slipped a little Viagra into your coffee or your bottled water? I mean I wanted the boner-don’t get me wrong, but at work? What the fuck was I going to do with a raging hard on at work? I’ve mentioned that when I was healthy I would jerk off at least once a day. I’ve mentioned that I looked at porn and never even gave it a thought.
I never did any of these things at work. The same way I never use curse words at work. I am polite to the point that people often mock me or parody me, and my politeness and I just take it as a complement. Please and thank you. They mean something to me. Excuse me. Pardon me. These are things that I say. I have never used or abused the Internet at work. Not at any job. Including Mercury Insurance. What I did in the privacy of my own home was my own business.
What they did to me right there at Mercury Insurance 1901 Ulmerton Road Clearwater FL 33762 is just unforgivable.
But I dug in. I made my stand. And the gloves and mask really helped. They really did.
“Why are you wearing gloves and a mask?” One of the Johns asked me. I think I was standing at the printer sorting through the pile of printed documents.
“Well,” I said. “I’m thinking about becoming a proctologist. I mean if I’m going to be working with so many ass holes. Why the fuck not?”
By this time the man in charge of the Bodily Injury Department was a guy named Scott Villwock. He was from Wisconsin, but he had the good sense to support the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
The gloves and the mask really angered old Scott Villwock. He actually called me into his office for one of those uncomfortable talks that bosses will give now and again. You know a one on one that is essentially a disciplinary action.
Scott had the annoying habit of mentioning the CIA all the time. And by CIA…I mean that CIA the Central Intelligence Agency. I could never figure out if this fool thought I was with the CIA or if he was trying to imply that he was. I do remember thinking, “I don’t care if you’re with the entire alphabet and half of fucking Sesame Street you stupid asshole.”
Scott would often ask me if I had any guns at home. Even before they started dosing me with boner juice and I started to come to work wearing surgical gloves and a painter’s mask. Scott had a college education but apparently he could not master the technology of the Internet or read a map. How do I know this? I know this because one day Scott came up to me and all but forced me to show him the location of a place called Breezy Point.
It’s in New York out by Rockaway. It is the location of my grandfather’s summer home.
Yeah, old Scott Villwock he pulls out a map or an atlas or something and the fucking fool makes me point to Breezy Point on a map. What a genius this guy is. And he’s running the department that I work in. Ain’t life grand?
Scott would often shout, “Pound the Rock. Pound the Rock,” across the office.
Apparently it’s a Tampa Bay Buccaneers thing. I counted my blessings. At least he wasn’t walking around the office with a Green Bay cheese wedge on his head!
No matter how many times I assured Scott Villwock that I do not own any guns, or even enjoy guns, the look of fear in his eyes never went away. Scott was always somewhat afraid of me. If the guy had any guts at all he used them all up the day he fired me.
Me, I’m not so sure I have guts, but man have I got the biggest set of balls.
The only thing that was certain at Mercury Insurance is that you would be moving. From desk to desk. Floor to floor. Whole departments. The company was going through a growth period and whole departments were moved on a weekly bases. You just never really knew where you were going to be sitting or even on what floor. I stopped counting how many times I moved at 6. And I was there for just over 3 years counting the beginning of my employment as a temp.
For all my talk about being in love with someone at work the truth is I hardly ever saw this person. They were not in my department and were often floors away. But I usually got to see the person I think of as “other Murphy” at least once a day. In the beginning anyway. Why “other Murphy”? See I had the Mike Murphy that I didn’t like so much and the “other Murphy” that I liked a lot.
Now I know why they call it falling in love. Turns out love is the bottomless pit. You just keep falling.
Other Murphy would show up at my desk about once a day because I would process the expense checks for the Bodily Injury adjusters, and they would print somewhere else in the building. Other Murphy would deliver the checks at about the same time each day.
I can’t even remember what department Other Murphy worked in. Something to do with fraud or fraudulent claims.
The point is Other Murphy didn’t actually work with me.
But the company had us all moving around all the time. And in the end Other Murphy wound up sitting just a few desks away from me. And that’s when they stared dosing me with boner juice. I have no idea what they expected my reaction to be, but I thought my solution was brilliant. Gloves and a mask.
But Scott Villwock did not like my solution. So he calls me into his office and tells me that I can not wear the gloves or the mask because they are creating a distraction in the workplace that is effecting productivity. I’m trying to avoid being dosed with boner juice and this idiot has to go and mention productivity.
I took the gloves and the mask off. It was work with out them or not work at all.
That’s when they started to poison me with something else. I have no clue what this stuff is, but here’s what it does. It puts and odd sensation into my throat. It…almost feels like I’m coming down with a cold. It brings on the worst insomnia. And when I do fall asleep it’s NOT normal natural healthy sleep. It’s like passing out. No dreams of any kind. It’s like being dead…only with a heartbeat. When I get out of bed in the morning I feel the exact opposite of what a human being is supposed to feel after waking. I do not feel refreshed. I feel worn out. See now they just want me to fucking quit. But I just won’t. I will not quit.
So they decided to murder me instead. I swear I am not making this up.
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