So yeah it’s Sunday & I was boring, as you probably gathered from the title. Do you want to know about the boringness? It involved oversleeping and missing the first 30 minutes of “Meet the Press;” eggs and bagels; napping to “Pretty in Pink;” and a few chapters of a cliche-ridden Touch & Go, our next Rock & Roll Bookclub pick.

Also, I made the cookies you see pictured. They were delicious and I’m glad I left most of them at Sister #2’s house.

Super boring, right? Of course, it’s what you come to expect. So now it’s time to tell you about the Creepy Thing at the Bank.

Our story begins on Friday when I went to the corner gas station to get some milk and a cup of coffee. Originally, I went there to deposit the stack of client checks that had been lurking between the pages of a book in Ruby’s back seat for like a week. But when I arrived at the corner gas station the Jetson’s-like ATM machine was being operated on by a dude with a beard. Since I didn’t want the putting on of jeans to be wholly pointless I picked up the milk and the coffee. The milk because I was avoiding grocery shopping because I wasn’t going to be home much this weekend and the coffee because it smelled good.

What followed were declined check cards, a call to the bank, and a long talk with Fraud Protection that involved a little bit of lecturing on their part about reading mail and a little bit of bitching on my part about the 81,281 credit card offers the bank sends every month.

What it came down to was that they sent me a new card because my old one had been compromised by a skimmer attached to an ATM. Or it might have been. Whatever. My punishment for ignoring all the bank’s letters was having to go to an actual bank where actual people are like I live in Bedrock with the Flintstones or something. It seems only people can do the magic PIN-number generating incantation. I guess. I didn’t ask too many questions.

So, I went to the brand-spanking new branch of my bank over by Sister #2’s house. The bank is so new I had to call it see if they were open yet. And they were. So Saturday morning before heading out for the day I wheeled into the bank to get a new PIN number.

As a nice welcoming decorative touch each of the bank teller windows features a 10-inch tall glass vase filled with water, clear marbles, and a brightly colored fish of some sort. In front of each vase was a bright red card featuring the name of the fish: “I am Fishy Wishy” one said.

So as the teller was in back doing the PIN-number incantation that can only be done by an actual human being and not by a computer, I studied all the fish. Three of them were floating belly up in the vases. Only one was swimming around. I stared at the dead, floating fish and then made eyes at the other tellers who were really busy ignoring me. I couldn’t tell if they were ignoring me because they could see me slightly freaking out about all their dead fish decorations or if they were just ignoring me because customers are fucking annoying.

Inside me debate raged. Should I tell them about their dead fish and how unnerving is? Should I just shut it and get the hell out of the bank since I was already running 20 minutes late? I mean they probably knew that the fish were dead. They had to see them, right? I mean how do you miss the dead fish right there on the counters where they worked?

When the woman returned with my check card I made the snap decision not to tell her about the fish, mostly because I wanted to get the hell out of there. But part of me wants to go back tomorrow to see if the dead fish are still there.