Creating Elite Players: Newsletter Day 17

in #rant16 days ago (edited)

At this point, it's becoming obvious that the universe wants me to have the roller-coaster experience of a lifetime. Must be so that I can deliver more fun stories to you. I hope you're having fun.

As I write this, I'm sitting at a Starbucks in Abbotsford. I have no idea where I'm going next (at this rate, another hotel).

Today, after a two-night stay in Harrison Hot Springs, I went to check out a random guy's upstairs room on a farm in Aldergrove. I say "random guy" but there is a minor connection in that we're both part of the same Facebook group, suggesting that we have shared values (I'm now quite dubious of that).

That turned out to be a complete clown show of a joke. If I had known in advance what his space looked like, and how much he was planning to rent it out for, I would have happily spent the day in Harrison Hot Springs, even with no destination in mind.

The main floor was decent enough. But the upstairs room he was planning to rent out was more akin to a crawl space with furniture (that's been rotting since god knows when) than a space suited for the living. He told me that I would want to run a heater upstairs (because it's cold), but only a small one because it could burn right through the floor. He also told me I should be equipped with a "piss bowl" upstairs, because climbing down the stairs at night to go to the bathroom would be treacherous at best.

Was he serious or was he playing chicken with me? Before leaving, I asked him what he expected in terms of rent. I figured, based on the accommodations and what he knew about my situation (I've been living out of Airbnbs and hotels for three months), he'd give me a bit of a break. "$1,400 a month," he said.

A bolder person would have cackled at this remark, pissed on his shoes, and dumped on his head before leaving a nasty skid mark on his driveway. Yeah, no way I'm living with some old guy who talks about "piss bowls" as if it's a normal thing. He was probably married once and now divorced or widowed, but holy cow, that's a whole new level of unshaven, unwashed, unkempt, and unclean that I'm simply not willing to stoop to. That's a bust.

I asked for an adventure, and I got one. But what I'm experiencing now is diagonally opposite and circumference perpendicular to "what the hell planet am I even on?!"

I wouldn't be looking so urgently if not for another matter. See, my bank seems to think my Mastercard debit card is active, when experience repeatedly proves they're incompetent, unsympathetic, and untrained troglodytes. No matter how many times I try, on different browsers and different devices, I can't make an online payment.

I spent the better part of three to four hours of my day at the bank and on the phone, banging my head against the wall with BMO and Airbnb. It's a complete mystery to them why I can't book a damn suite.

Someone needs to be held responsible. Someone needs to be accountable. You can't just tell me "well, it should be working" when it clearly isn't. Who's in charge here, and why does your bank have such piss poor process? You would at least fight for me in your office until closing if my business was so valuable to you, instead of leaving me stranded on your front step. Idiots, all.

So far as I can tell, the issue still hasn't been figured out, and it's forcing me towards booking a couple more nights at a hotel.

(Although, it has come to light that I'm not the only one with the issue. Could be that the banks are undergoing cyber attacks they're not willing to admit to.)

Here's your bill, God. You'd better cover it, because no one else is going to.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Drop a comment so I can follow you and connect with you personally.

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