The giftcard was a Christmas gift from my sister four years ago. Presumed lost in the Christmas packing (see my blog about Trashic) the card lay dormant for years, lurking inside the pristine but empty flip mino packaging box. Politely acknowledged, filed in a likely safe spot, and then promptly forgotten. The Card as it shall now be known, escaped certain annihilation that day and yet it's fate so much worse. Like the evil "prospector" from toy story who betrays "Woody" the card smoldered for years. Obsessed with extracting a most satisfying revenge on those who had imprisoned and neglected him.
Oh if only the card had any idea as to the pain and suffering his grieving owners had expired in securing his value. The calls they made to gift card employees from India, sitting in a room infested with cubicles, ringing phones and ceaseless chattering in foreign accents. If only the card knew the embarrassment and shame the family knew as they stalked ClaimJumpers, harassing managers, pleading with them to know if anyone knew the identity of this card and could replace it's 50 dollar value?
Please? Isn't there anyone who can confirm the card's existence and replace his value? Why I assessed a Male gender to the card I will never now as he possesses the stubborn, hard to get attitude of a hot female just as much as the evasive aloufness of a dude but I digress. We were given a code that didn't work and numbers that led nowhere. We had given up on the card after exhaustive spousal arguments. The card was dead to us and then one day we found it!
Oh the joy! The card lives! We skipped to ClaimJumpers, our feet merely brushing the pavement as the entire family floated across the Carquinez bridge, along the freeway and into the Willows shopping center where ClaimJumpers sat triumphantly awaiting our royal arrival.
The Euphoria as we entered was tempered by the familiar sights and smells of a run of the mill diner with cool Moose Antlers: "seasoned" waitresses, dank carpets and generic wooden booths. I thought of the prospector. Locked in that box, he'd gone batshit crazy. Defying all logic to betray his newest friend.
The meal was so so. Maya and i chatted as the waitress brought us the check.
This giftcard doesn't seem to work. It's already been charged twice for 50 dollars.
What? That's impossible. They wouldn't even let us cancel it!
I'll Get the manager. Said the seasoned waitress. She knows how much he makes and she's going to let him earn it.
The Manager approaches. He couldn't be more than25 and he's polite and to the point and I appreciate that.
I'm very sorry but there's nothing on this card. Not a red cent. There's nothing I can do.
I don't appreciate this. Something like a wave walls up inside of me and a storm from regions I haven't explored in a long time is summoned with breathtaking speed and urgency. I know that my wife and two young boys are watching and yet I cannot control myself.
I hurl the card like I'm turning two and hits a bald guy square in his forhead and I'm sorry but I'm still pissed and I find myself shouting
This card is fucking cursed!
Sit down sir or I'll have to call the police.
Call them! Somebody stole 50 bucks off this card and I want them arrested! I want my money! Where is it? Who has it? My sister paid good money for that and she deserves to have it count. And I kick the stuffed Moose in the gut and then I shoot down for his leg like one of those MMA guys going for the ground and pound. I've got it in a bear hug and I start to pull it.
Just like I'm pulling your leg right now!
Happy Birthday to me. Every bit of this is true up until I write "I hurl the card". Well, that part is true too, it just happened in my mind.