Now on week five of no kitchen, I discovered ants running around inside my microwave oven in my spare bedroom. I was so hungry for lunch at 3:15 in the afternoon that I decided to nuke them along with my chicken and carrots.
I’d just left Bank of the West, my third attempt to get an IRA for my 2018 tax break. I’d made an appointment this time after the manager at another branch failed to call me back, even though his teller promised that he would. Then I tried Wells Fargo, but they said I’d have to call an 800 number, and the wait on a Saturday could be an hour or more.
So when the good-looking blue-eyed guy named Chad in his blue suit and blue tie at the second Bank of the West sat me down for my appointment and tried to sell me a portfolio of products instead of a $6500 IRA, I warned him, “I just want an IRA for tax purposes.”
He gave me a song and dance about how he needed to get to know me and my needs and wants before he would know which product to advise me to buy. I told him some stuff, and then I realized what he was up to.
I warned him again, “If you can’t set up an IRA for me for $6500, I will go get it elsewhere.”
He went back to his spiel about how he needed more information.
“I don’t want to do this,” I said. “I haven’t even had lunch yet.”
He again claimed that he needed to know more. At that point, I got up and walked out. It was going on three o’clock (really 2:00, since we are at day four of Daylight Savings Time.)
“Now Susan . . .” he said in a sad syrupy voice.
I hope I slammed the door to his little frosted glass office. Did I? I meant to. He was prying way too much info out of me and had no intention of doing what I asked unless he got something out of it, too, like a commission.
I got into my car and called my accountant. She assured me that all I needed was to call up Charles Schwab and get it done.
On the way home, I decided I didn’t want another version of Chad at Charles Schwab, so I went online and got an IRA with Bank of America. That was after I ate my chicken and carrots and before I cleaned out the microwave.
Those pesky little ants survived the nuking. When my chicken was steaming hot, they were still running around in there under the glass turntable. They were almost as annoying as Chad.
But I got them all with Windex (I mean the ants!).
Windex fixes everything.
And lunch. Lunch helps, too.