No One Will Accept My Money...Just Steal It...

 "While money can't buy happiness, it certainly lets you choose your own form of misery..." -- Groucho Marx

Some very strange happenings surrounding money, this day.

My day began with having to get up at a godawful hour to keep an appointment at a local diagnostic lab, where the Overlord was to be harpooned for blood, per doctor's orders. Preceded by a 12-hour fast, so I didn't even get the benefit of a morning cup of coffee, I might add.

So, he arrives bleary-eyed and unenthusiastic to the lab, as ordered by a licensed bandit in a white coat (my co-pay to see this particular doctor was almost as much as his charge), ready to give the red stuff so we can figure out what parts of me are out of whack (allegedly).

The phlebotomist goes through the typical administrative rigamarole and then down to, as they say, brass tacks.

They'll need to be paid before they prick me and suck my lifeblood from my veins.

No problem: I have plenty of cash.

Only they don't take that stuff.

Don't take cash? The medical profession won't take cash? I was flabbergasted. So I asked her to repeat that for me.

Nope. They only take credit cards or debit cards.

Now, the Overlord has these things but usually does not carry them, and for good reason: money often burns a hole in my pocket, and the temptation to spend on stupid shit I don't need or sometimes even really want is an impulse I control through a program of strict financial discipline.

This means that I give myself a weekly allowance.

This means that I do not buy anything that I do not have the cash for, and that I evaluate the need versus the cost before taking the plunge.

This means, unless you're on vacation or it's an emergency, you leave the credit cards home. Too much temptation.

It also means you don't use a debit or ATM card, ever, because having to actually go to the bank to withdraw funds is a pain in the ass. Again, the ATM card is too much temptation.

So, before I can give a blood sample, I have to go home, get a credit card, and then return...which entails sitting in the waiting room for nearly an hour, despite the fact that I had an appointment and they made me break it, because they won't take cash in payment.

This "cashless society" bullshit is getting out of hand and is becoming inconvenient.

But, it doesn't get any better in the places that DO take cash.

For no sooner did I bleed for science and to discover if my prostate and assorted other odds and ends are in working condition, I went to the supermarket. Considering I just went there LAST WEEK and spent a shitload to stock up, this is an annoyance.

The checkout counter became a serious shock.

A 5-pound bag of potatoes, a bag of carrots, a six-pack of Dr. Brown's Black Cherry and a half-pound of Genoa salami (for Mrs. Overlord), one roasting chicken. Total cost: $32.16.

Prices are rising faster than a malarial fever.

But, it gets worse. Because I stopped for gas on the way home.

If this isn't illegal, it sure as hell SHOULD be.

The local BP posts the price of unleaded regular at $3.75 per gallon. I pull up to the pump and a man comes walking towards me. I know him because I see him all the time at the gas station. I don't know his name, but I know his face. Her works there. He has never pumped my gas before at this station, but now he's going to fill my tank for me; the station is usually self-serve.

And then you figure the scam out. But not before the Go-Juice is already flowing.

The reason why this pump was available in an otherwise crowded service station was because of the sign. The sign says "Full Service", but it's pointing the wrong direction, so it couldn't be seen by me.

And then you see THE OTHER SIGN -- on top of the pump -- where the price for unleaded regular is suddenly $4.05 a gallon...at this specific pump. All the other pumps have signs saying $3.75 a gallon.

So, I'm being charged 30-cents per gallon so someone else can pump my gas, saving me the "trouble" of exiting my vehicle and entering the station?

Now, in New Jersey I know it is illegal for people to pump their own gas, and every station has attendants, and the price of gas is usually 50-cents cheaper than it is here on Staten Island. Which means the $3.75 I would have paid for self-serve here, I could get for around $3.29 per (price I saw the other day) WITH the service thrown in.

This pissed me off. It's dishonest, and the Nissan Tie Fighter has a 16-gallon tank, I was running on close-to-fumes, and I have to fill up, it was a $60 job.

I went to complain to Nebuchadnezzar in the kiosk, but he suddenly forgot how to speak English. Which is funny, because he had no problem telling me how much he loved Salma Hayek (and who doesn't?) the week before when she just happened to come on the television.

(So, Salma, if you're ever interested in hot, sweaty sex with a dude who is LITERALLY the gap-toothed poster child for Islamically-approved bestiality, please give Mohammed -- the tall one, not the short one or the fat one -- a call. Sure, he smells like Hai Karate and anti-freeze, but I'm sure it'll be over very quickly).

So, it seems I need to find a new gas station to get ripped off in...