Ladies...Rub My Nipples, Please.
4/20/08
I was having difficulties with my newly opened Wells Fargo bank account and popped in to see what happened to my money and why my accounts were frozen. It didn’t seem like a big deal and I prefer to deal with these types of situations in person, relying on my charm and wit to get what I want. But after taking a seat in the cubicle of the first available customer service representative (Carlos) it was obvious by his – huffy, know it all attitude – that this was not gonna be a typical day.
Carlos “Sir, Wells Fargo is closing your account, because you do not meet the requirements specified in our policies.”
Me “Am I not tall enough? Is it because I didn’t vote last election? I swear that I eat 5 servings of fruits & vegetables everyday.”
Carlos “NO, it could be that you have bad credit or a history of bouncing checks. We don’t concern ourselves with your personal life.”
This guy obviously ENJOYED giving bad news as he gave me the news with a condescending grin and I knew when I was beat. I wasn’t gonna waste anymore time with Charlie Chaplin, because I could just go to another bank. This is what it must feel like when trying to convert a Muslim to Judaism.
Me “Fine, then give me my money.”
Carlos “How would you like your funds?”
Me “Cashiers check will suffice.”
Carlos “Ok, one cashiers check for $dollars coming right up.”
Me “WHOA…how much? Theres almost $200 missing from my account with what you just told me.”
Carlos “Yes sir, we charge fees for closing your account early. Anytime before 90 days after the opening.”
Me “BUT YOU GUYS ARE CLOSING IT, NOT ME!”
I won’t bore you with anymore of the nonsensical gibberish, but you get the idea. Just like Britney in a custody hearing, I got nowhere and I tried every tactic that I could think of. I talked to every manager that would listen, we called corporate, I scoured the Terms & Conditions, but the only explanation I got was that Wells Fargo lets ANYONE open an account and then closes them for a stiff fee after further examination if they don’t meet certain hokey criteria. I guess the right Tarot cards didn’t fall when they performed their psychic evaluation on me. Its just plain predatory if you ask me. And after about two hours, I was starting to get a little hot under the collar, but I was willing to sit there all day over $200 when Crazy Charlie dropped the bomb on me.
Carlos “Sir, you just making this harder than it has to be because you don’t like me.”
Me “Uhhhhh, what? I don’t even know you.”
Carlos “You know what I am talking about.”
…squinting my eyes looking side to side… And that is when I took a good look around his cubicle and put things into perspective. He had red ribbons, pink bears, & rainbows in all forms quietly advertising his sexually deviant lifestyle. I should have noticed it earlier, but I was too busy stewing and trying to save myself almost $200. This guy was as queer as a football bat, which he wore as a badge of honor. And confronting me was an ingenious tactic if you ask me. What in the hell was I supposed to say?
I don't have any prejudices against the gay community; in fact I wish 99% of all men were militantly gay...LESS COMPETITION! And there is no possible way that he could have understood that I supported his right to do whoever & whatever he wanted with his life. I didn’t care, I just wanted my money. But to him I appeared to be just like every other bald redneck that drinks beer, kicks cattle, and spits in a cup, because I was wearing the uniform; unshaven, a wife beater, & flip flops. Fine, I am used to being 'profiled', but the only reason that I put up such intense resistence was for the distinct purpose of trying to figure out how to get my money out of that bank and angle my way out of paying $200 in fees to close both my personal & business accounts.
Well, as Tinkerbell huffed and hawed over my intense glare after his stupid comment, I sat there wondering how many of the hard candy peppermints on his desk that I could stuff in his mouth before security tasered me. He obviously took my stare as a hate crime, but there was no hate intended, just disdain at his lack of class and intelligence towards people he didn't either like or understand...a very interesting conundrum.
When you argue with an idiot, they drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.
I gave in and asked for my checks. I had the feeling things were about to get ugly and I am above that. So while I was waiting for my money sans $200, I began to ponder the 'gay condition'. What does it constitute to be gay? Basically, the act of being gay is defined solely by sexual acts. I like to get a pedicure and massages and facials...does that make me gay? I like to dress immaculately and I sure as hell can decorate my house with great designer sense...does that make me gay? I couldn't live without a great Latte in the morning or a nice glass of Merlot at dinner...does that make me gay? I like '80s music and I own a pink shirt or two. The list goes on, but not a single thing could be constituted as defining me as gay, because I have never and will never...well you get the idea.
So why do gay people choose to define themselves solely by their sexual acts, can't they just express themselves? I don't know and I am not sure that I want to know either. Personally, I am a 'nippler'...I can't finish the act of carnal pleasure with a woman if she doesn't gently reach up and rub my nipples. Is that too much information? WELL I DAMN SURE HOPE SO! Do you feel uncomfortable, because I do! What happens in the bedroom should stay in the bedroom.
I don't define myself by the fact that I am 'nippler', but I sure as hell found an odd way to express it though in this story. I don't cut out holes in my shirt or get special bumper stickers or hijack a specific color or even want a Pride Day complete with a parade. I don't run around advertising my preferences or asking to be segregated in any way from normal society because what I do in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. So again I ask…what is so damned special about being gay? It’s a freaking sex act!
I guess the moral of the story is that people love labels. They love to label themselves and they love to label others and they love to live within the confines of those labels. I painfully know this story all too well, because after graduating with my MBA in 2005, I couldn’t find a decent job that didn’t require a hairnet. I seemed destined to be working alongside Gary Coleman, jumping on the hoods of cars as a rent-a-cop. Although I haven’t been convicted of a felony, a felony arrest coupled with poor credit equaled unemployment in a modern economy. I wear the twenty first century version of the Scarlet Letter and the crimson A doesn’t stand for Alabama.
I understand that I have made mistakes, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that I am an honest, charming, educated, intelligent, and hard-working (workaholic) citizen. And I would like to believe that I would have become a valuable resource to any organization that allowed me to join their team. But I cant tell you how many times I knocked ‘em dead in an interview and was basically offered a job to only get a some chain letter from the human resources department telling me that I wasn’t qualified for the position. It was the career version of a strip club…a tease. Sound familiar…cough, cough…Wells Fargo!
Here is a very small list of the jobs I will never have due to my background:
Teacher
Fireman
Policeman
Any work for either the City or Federal Government (IRS, Border Patrol, FBI, CIA, NSA, Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, etc, etc, etc.)
Financial Planner
CPA/Accountant
Attorney
Professor
Nurse
Banker
Doctor
Pilot
Pharmaceutical Rep
Pharmacist
Pretty much the entire damned economy that pays people well.
Oh, and a bank account at Wells Fargo.
My problems go even deeper than that. The last time I tried to rent an apartment, I was refused due to my criminal background. They told me that they didn’t rent to people that had felonies. I explained that my case was dismissed and asked if any of their tenants had DUI’s, which is a felony, but that plea fell on deaf ears. And people wonder why criminals get back into crime.
I wish things were different. I wish that I could live a normal life and have a stable It’s my entire fault. I know it and you know it. In fact, the hardest thing for someone to do is look in the mirror and say, “You know, this is my entire fault.” So here I am. But where are you? How have you labeled yourself? It’s easy to see the restrictions that I have placed on myself, but what boundaries have you set for yourself? We see them everyday.
Employee “Sorry sir, I just work here. I am just a ________.”
My grandma “I only vote for the ________ party, no matter what happens!”
Dude “I am just a ________ and will never be anything but a ________.”
Person “I will NEVER leave or live anywhere but in ________.”
Worker “I worked at XYZ Company for 40 years as a ________.”
Fill the blanks in with anything you want; cashier or line cook or bartender or Democrat or Republican or whatever you label yourself. But if you only want to be a BLANK ________, then only think like a BLANK ________! Now, if you want to be better and have more…then you’ve got to THINK better. You can’t make a company or school or political party or government agency or city or whatever-you-put-in-the-blanks better, you can only make the people better and when the people get better everything gets better. Live beyond your label, by thinking past it. Deep down, what are you? I hope you are more than a ________.