"Ye-yes it is, grandma," I stammer, not sure if this is a test or not. Jewish grandmothers can be sneaky like that, and if Jewish grandsons aren't careful, it's goodbye happy birthday calls at strange hours a month and a half after your birthday, and no one wants that on their permanent Jewish record.
"Have you talked to your father recently?" she asks.
I try to recollect when the last time I talked to my father was; nothing comes to me, so I make something up.
"I sent him your birthday money and told him to mail it to you," she says. You see now why Jewish grandsons have to be careful.
"I guess I'll talk to him tomorrow," I say.
"It was 200 dollars!" she says. I am flabbergasted.
"Thanks, grandma." I'm really bad at thanking people over the phone, so this doesn't convey my excitement whatsoever. Secretly I'm freaking out. I'm also fairly certain I punch my computer once or twice because it's loading something slowly, but I digress.
"Have you talked to your father recently?" she asks, and we go through the conversation roughly 7 more times, meaning I have to not only continually be a bad thanker, and a self-aware bad thanker at that, but I also have to pretend it's my birthday 7 times. Eventually I get off the hook.
Two days later, I go downstairs, open up my mailbox, and lo and behold - a shiny new check. I immediately tell Schmatthew "The Schmiladelphia Schmouthpaw" Schmazik, who is with Gianluca in the vending machine area, of the benefits of senility in grandmothers. I'm theoretically $200 richer, so I don't bother cashing this bad boy. It's May 1st, or as it's known in the Eastern Orthodox liturgical calendar, Maypril Fools' Day. And I, my friends, am a Maypril Fool.
Knowing I had 200 smackeroos on reserve just waiting for my endorsement, I began a lavish lifestyle. Eating out, buying various accoutrements, spending like Jay Gatsby became part of my everyday life. I even wrote, produced, and was featured in a rap song in which I detailed explicitly the diameter of the wheels which I paid an extravagant amount of money to have placed upon my automobile, how I used said wheels to impress women in order that they might engage in various acts of consort with my person, and clarified to those who would detract from my artistry that I am not, in fact, colluding with officers of the law. I may have ignited a feud with OJ da Juiceman as well, although The Source has yet to verify insider claims. Soon I had it all - women, cars, mountains of cocaine, a cocaine addiction, a little swimming pool I could fall into if someone ever shot me from my upstairs balcony. They told me to slow down, but I wouldn't listen. I was too foolish and naive for that. Everyone else falls from these heights; but not David Wile - not the Kid. This was my life, homie. You decide yours. Then came the day I tried to order Chinese with my credit card - and no dice.
Alright, I said to myself. I have less than $24 in my account. I can still live my life. You can still decide yours. But then - SCENE: Morning of May 4th, David Wile walks into the McDonald's in the tunnel and orders a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit - and no dice. Alright, I said to myself in a similar tone to the time I said it to myself before. I have less than $4 in my account. I can still live my life. Your ability to decide your life, however, could be somewhat hampered. I think nothing of it, put my Chevy Chase student debit card back in my wallet, and pay with my momma's card. I consider going to the bank to deposit my $200, but it's not open yet, so I continue on.
Flash forward, morning of May 5th - Cinco de Mayprilo in the Spanish liturgical calendar. I breakfast on another sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. Once again, too early for banking, so I head back. Around 11 in the AM, Matt Tweardy comes by to the Centennial 3 Study Cell, where I've been living for the past 2 weeks, and asks me to help him move a box to the UPS Store. I gladly oblige, eager to get as far away from my War & Personal Responsibility paper as possible. Whilst in the tunnel, I figure I can kill two birds with one stone and hit up da banks. I mosey on in, gallivant up to the counter, and proudly place my $200 through the window. Put this in the magic money system and let me get back to my lavish ways, I say. She asks me if I know how much is in my account.
"Under 4 dollars," I answer.
"Actually, it's negative."
I am surprised at this. "How negative?" I inquire.
She presses some buttons and scrawls a number on a piece of paper. She hands the paper to me upside down like I got a bad grade. Well, if a -80.71 is a bad grade, then I certainly got one, because that's exactly the number she wrote in a color I like to call "mocking purple" on my "Balance Inquiry Form." I quickly go through some calculations in my head, and I cannot even comprehend this number.
"Do you know how it got that way?" she asks me.
"No..." I say, looking for some answers.
"Would you like to see?"
Why yes I would, as a matter of fact. So I'll present that same question to you. Would you like to see? Because you're going to.
This, friends, is the last page of my monthly account balance (I've conveniently circled the only important part for you to look at in red):
Well. You'll notice that in the 2 days after I received my check for $200, I quickly blew all ~$60 I had to my name. $48 of that was a professor depositing a check for some play tickets 3 weeks after I gave it to her; sorry I forgot to account for that, Chevy Chase - my bad. Transformations of Shakespeare is really doing a number on both my bank account and GPA this semester.You'll also notice that on the day of May 3rd, I made 2 egregious errors. The first occurred that morning as I was bringing my all-nighter through the home stretch through a morning McDonald's run. A refreshing $4.28 sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit & sweet tea. After taking 2 exams on literally 0 hours of sleep, I wandered back home, strangely awake from my test taking, albeit with a slightly atrophied right hand. From whence will my help come? THE MACDONALD'S. I stroll up to the register, dirty, beleaguered, the painter's strokes of years of toil and anguish meticulously pressed upon my face.
Through the pain I uttered these 7 words, 7 words to haunt me all the days of my life: "Double cheeseburger meal...and a...sweet tea?"
I looked on the register. $4.17. He'd gotten the meal right. Most of the time people don't expect meals with the double cheeseburger, so they just press the sandwich button, but this kid had it right. He was a pro. He could handle himself around a register, and we both knew it. We exchanged respectful glances, and I went about my life.
That is, until May 5th, when I deposited my $200 check only to find that the sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit, double cheeseburger, fries, and 2 sweet teas (once again, FROM MCDONALD'S) cost me $78.45.
Luckily, because of my check, I still had $120 of my deposit to continue living the American dream. BUT: just imagine the quandary I would be in if I didn't have a senile grandma - JUST IMAGINE THAT.
You are amazing. Wow. I'll never look at a McDonald's breakfast the same....only you would let McDonald's lead to an overdraft fee!
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