meet me at the flagpole after school

To all of you who emailed me privately, thanks so much for the support. And those of you who thought I didn't properly convey the utter WTF-ness of the firey hoop-jumping spectacle I've been put through the last few months by Citibank, I'm sorry. It was a lot longer and had more curses in it, but toward the end I started thinking about people out there who have it so much worse and dialed down the bitchfest a little.

I've logged in another three hours on the phone with them today, starting at 8 a.m. when they called. The first person spent 15 minutes describing this program I can get into and what I need to do to get into it and then at the very end realized it only applies to people who have regained employment and need a break to catch up.

I was transferred around, found out my credit score actually IS in the toilet now and then was told I need to re-fax my proof of unemployment AGAIN. Then the number was rejected by the fax machine. Good times. Also that woman who said paying that money would clear my account of delinquency? No one seems to know who she is, and if I try to get them to rectify the situation, it's going to be a She said/She said thing resulting in me being screwed.

I have a bunch of of other, much more sunny things to post about (the hole in my mom's back yard, EB's wedding) coming up, but they'll have to wait until I get away from the dialup. In the meantime I'm thinking of writing the president a letter about how this bailed-out behemoth is using the billions it got. And for an extra-curricular activity to my full-time job of being on hold with them, I'm gathering a posse to kick Citibank's collective ass. Who's with me?