Annoyance a.k.a. Bank of Nova Scotia? You suck.

Ah, the best laid plans.

Tonight I left the office to take what I thought would be the last ride on the TTC I'd have for awhile. I waited 25+ minutes. The ride itself was nearly 40.

I didn't lose it when a person coughed right on my head. Twice.

Nor did I lose control when yet another person sighed on my head.

I even refrained from passing judgement on the various cell phone conversations that yammered around me.

"Yeah. Yeah man. It's like pointy hair. Like up."

Isn't it great to know that the myriad amounts of cell phone minutes buffeting through the air are comandeered for such a high purpose? Is it not comforting that our collective exposure to the signal radiation that will probably result in cancer en masse is because of such high minded conversations?

I staggered home. The Marine and I then got in the car to head up to the dealership to pick up his car. And I mean head up. To Keele and Sheppard y'all.

The Marine's car looked great. It's a snazzy 1995 Ford Escort Station Wagon and it shined like Gloriana herself after a wash and fresh vacuum. My subconscious immediately flew into fantasies of the endless self-transport convenience that my new re-automobiled life would surely grant me.

"What do you mean a certified cheque?"

"It must be certified cheque, money order, cash or credit card? I explain this to you."

"No you didn't. You took my first cheque as a deposit."

Holy miscommunication.

None of this would have been such a big deal except one:

The mortgage money is sitting in my account and two:

My bank recently informed me that my daily limit had been reduced to $1000 for debit purchases to protect me from identity thieves.

The fellow at the dealership goes to talk to his manager, who suggests I call the bank. I said that it wouldn't be the branch, but telephone banking. I was certainly willing to give it a shot.

The first call [oh yes. You already know where this is going don't you?] I was on hold for about 10 minutes. A lady comes on. I explain the situation. She has to go speak to her manager. After doing so she comes back on the line to say that I am authorized for $3000.

"But I need $3,400."

"I'm sorry. I can't do it."

"You can't give me $400 more when you can see the money sitting there in my account?"

"I know. But I'm sorry."

Fine.

We try the debit purchase as the fellow at the dealership says I can give him a cheque for the rest.

Fine.

I try the debit only to get a "purchase exceeds limit" message.

Fine.

I call the bank again. I'm on hold for 15 minutes more. I get someone else on the line and explain [AGAIN!] the situation. He says he can see the authorization for $3000 right there on his screen.

I ask if he can stay on the line while we try again. He says yes.

Fine.

We try. We try again. No dice. Then the dealership dude mentions that it might be because we're on the phone line. then the bank dude says that we may need to try $2,900 as I had already made purchases today.

Now I know that maybe the all day colour Maybelline lipstick I got was not essential. Nor was the triple treatment Opi Top coat/base coat/nail conditioner I bought. In fact, the formaldehyde will probably kill me. But really. I mean. REALLY.

I get a more direct number to call the bank dude back at if the debit doesn't work. We hang up. The debit processes.

It of course, exceeds my limit.

By this time is 8:15 pm and the poor dealership dude is starving I'm sure. So I just said you know what? Stuff happens, this is no one's fault, I'll come tomorrow with a certified cheque. Then dealership dude says that perhaps it is God's will that this happened and we can only trust.

"You were not meant to go home in separate cars tonight."

Then he told us this story of how his sister got in a car accident, and she hadn't really needed to be in the car, but she felt she just pushed her luck and there you go.

There you go.

So tomorrow, we're back to the dealership. What are you going to do? Oh except maybe regulate on some 14 year old punk.

Oh yeah.

After all this, we head out to the car and some kid from the neighbouring car sales lot says "This isn't a parking spot and you've been here for 3 hours."

This was the cherry on the bullsh&t sundae and my fury, Dear Reader, knew no bounds. I gave him the look of Death.

"We have NOT been here 3 hours. We've been here within the last hour dealing with a gentleman over there. And you don't have to be rude about it."

"Uh...Oh....Well I'm sorry if I was rude."

"Yeah. Whatever." I replied.

Punk. Don't mess with Cheetah when her dinner's already late!