Sucks.

(April 30, 2004)

It's hard to believe this shit is still necessary in the year 2004. I suppose knowing about it gets you halfway there.

When you're in a paycheck-to-paycheck mode, there isn't always time to deposit a check in the bank account and let it clear-- not with thirty-five cents in your pocket and no toilet paper--you need cash. So, you cash that check.

Conveniently, there's this check-cashing place around the corner from my place.

Not-so-conveniently, there is always a problem when I go there. My first time there, the woman behind the counter did not return my smile when I walked in the door, but stared at me with this very bitchy expression. She looked to be in her fifties, gray hair strands taking over her thick black mane, which was pulled tightly back into a ponytail. I said "hi" and gave her the check and my ID. She barely looked at the check, just shoved it back under the little window and said something in Spanish. I said, "Excuse me?" and she repeated what she'd said, more forcefully. "I don't know what you're saying to me," I said. She gestured to the check and said the same thing. I left.

The second time I went there, Hub was with me. We had to get kitty litter for Dan and Tanya's cats, so Hub went to the CVS across the street while I went to the check cashing place. "They're not going to cash it, watch," I said. Sure enough, same woman, same bitchy stare, but this time she magically speaks English enough to say, "Check too old." I looked at the envelope that the check came in- it was dated three days prior. The check itself was ten days old. "Too old?" "Two weeks," she barked and turned away. The check cashing place over in Union Square cashed it without a second glance, cheerfully.

I just stopped going to the Bitchy one for awhile, but at some point last month it was necessary. This time, the clerk was a man, also of Latino origin.

Latino men love me.

He called me by my first name, and cashed the check. Cheerfully.

Yesterday, I took another chance. Gorgeous warm day. I did my eyes, put on a cute tank top and skirt and walked over. Walked in, saw The Bitch in her window, saw the man in another window. This check was dated April 18th, so it was "two weeks" old.

He called me by my first name, and cashed the check. Cheerfully.

I almost...ALMOST...threw a smug look of "HA!" back over my shoulder to The Bitch as I left.

I mean seriously. What the fucking fuck. There was NO REASON she couldn't process my transactions other than the fact that she hated the sight of me immediately. Women-hating women are the reason I have very few female friends. Catty, bitchy, suspicious and downright mean before the first words are ever exchanged? Why, WHY? Why should I have to PURPOSELY choose the male clerk just to have my goddamn transaction processed?

Gee, can't imagine why men think women are fucking insane.

Sucks.