So, how many bad things can result from a simple desire to find and buy the three comic books that happened to be missing from the stack I picked up yesterday? Well, it turns out that a lot of bad things can result from that simple, obsessive desire. It should be noted, before I begin with the chain of events resulting from the quest for the comic books, that the day started off really well. I began by getting a solid couple of hours of writing in. I was actually naive enough to think that it would just get better from there.
First, we left the house without the directions to the nearest Newbury Comics and then ended up driving all over creation trying to find it instead of just going home, getting the directions and getting it done. Second, after we gave up and went grocery shopping, I decided I was still going to try and get it done today. So, I went back out with the directions in hand and began my quest.
I found the Newbury Comics, which it turns out that we had passed earlier and just not seen. They only had one of the three books I was looking for. Okay, I said, we’ll go to the one in Nashua. It’s not that far away.
So, I went to the one in Nashua. They had one of the other two I needed, but not both. I pulled out my checkcard, wondering where the five I’d had in my pocket went, and I paid and I decided I would try to Comic Store in Nashua, where I used to go with Jerry back in the days of Hot Comix to pick up the books each week. I figured they would definitely have the final book I needed. On my way out the car, while I was deciding this, I noticed that, once again, my bank card was slipping around in my wallet, almost wanting to fall out.
I got the Comic Store about five minutes before closing and the dude at the register helped me find what I was looking for. I paid with my checkcard and headed out to the car.
On the way home I was supposed to pick up a couple of things at the grocery store that we had forgotten in our haste earlier. All was going well until I got to the self-checkout counter and discovered that my check card was gone. I panicked. I managed to pay for my groceries with my credit card and then rushed out to my car to see if I’d left it on the seat or something.
I eventually found the five-dollar bill that I’d lost, but not the card. I called Stef to ask her to find the appropriate number to call for reporting lost or stolen cards and I rushed home.
On the way home, I was pulled over for doing 50 in a 35 (though, why that road is a 35 I will never know). If it weren’t for the fact that I’d just lost my check card and the officer was sympathetic, I’d probably have a ticket. Instead, I ended up with a written warning. Still, I was pissed off now.
I got home and I was in a rampage that was only made worse when I realized that the bank’s emergency hotline had closed an hour before. I had no way of cancelling my card. Now someone could waltz off with all of our money and we’d be shit out of luck.
There was a lot of yelling and a few frantic phonecalls for advice that went unanswered and eventually we ended up calling back and finding out that, if we waited long enough, we finally got put through to an emergency emergency line that was open. I closed the card and was told to call back tomorrow to make sure there had been no unauthorized transactions.
Fried from all of this, I let Stef cook dinner. It came out great, but she used a glass pan in the broiler and it shattered when she took it out. That probably wouldn’t have happened if I had been cooking. Though, with the state I was in, something much worse probably would have happened.
All of this because I wanted three stupid comic books. Why did I just go back to the comic book store I go to regularly and buy them all there? Who knows? I’m just an idiot, I guess.