So, I’m sitting here, minding my own business, when my phone makes that annoying noise it makes when it gets a text message.

It was a big ol’ free thankyou text from Verizon for autopaying my bill with my Discover card…except, my bill is a little more than I expected.

So, I go to check my online statement. Except my account is locked for some stupid reason. Fucking account. I have to change my password, which means I never get to use that password again, because they keep records on that shit.

Fucking Verizon.

After I get my password changed and finally get logged in enough damned times to see my bill, I discover that there’s a fucking MapQuest charge. God, I fucking hate MapQuest and their fucking charges. I thought I got rid of them.

I check Gremlin’s phone. No MapQuest, nothing in the log about using MapQuest. Hm. A Mystery. And one I probably can’t solve until Monday, because of the no-24-7-service thing….

But I get someone anyway. An American. A fucking stoned American. Of course, it’s Stoner Sunday….

I get my problem resolved without a fight, but I have to put up with the repeating of the questions five hundred times, and the strange, horrible breathing into the mouthpiece like a pervert, which was probably just him thinking, ‘Hey, funny grey cheese puff, yum yum.’

He was not a happy stoner. He was more like a ‘oh fuck I’m hungry who hid my bong OH SHIT I’m at WORK!’ stoner. One that was about to eat the mic because, hey, so what, grey cheeto. Someone tried to make a bong out of it. I’m sure he’s actually sat through this conversation: “Hey, dude, check it out, I can make a bong out of anything. CHEESE PUFF BONG! Oh, shit, man, carpet’s on fire…. I guess that didn’t work so good.”

Stoner Sunday sucks. I’d rather deal with Nursing Home Work Release Day over at Comcast. At least Granmda Customer Service is pleasant and conjures the smell of home cooking and, well, old people. Which is way more pleasant than burned carpet and three-week-worn socks.

Also, Grandma? She doesn’t repeat herself as much.