Just a little giddy.

Of course,  you probably already KNOW,  what I’m talking about.

 

First though,  there was this.

OMERS?   What?  Are they going to gimme money??

Doubt that like hell.  I can’t collect too danged much from those guys until I’m sixty.  Well,  I think I could have started to receive a pension at 55,  but it was something like a dollar ninety-five a month.  Give or take.  Can’t buy a pack of smokes for that.  Probably a good thing I don’t smoke.

My next thought was,  “How the heck did they get my address?”   That fine upstanding person whom I was in communication with at my previous employer must have forwarded it.   Son of a …

Now why would she do that,  when we can receive all the mail in the world at our address in Canada?  Plus,  now I’ll have to contact these people whenever we DO move.  *sigh*.

 

Besides,  it turns out it’s just junk mail.   Well,  it’s their “report”.  But I could read that on line.

 

Why didn’t she just give them my email address,  and then at least I could have just hit “delete” OR,  if it was some sort of document worth keeping,  I could save it as some sort of a file?   Probably as one of those “Pretty Damned Frustrating”  files.   You know.  PDF.

 

So that was a bit of a mailbox letdown.  If you’re not getting much else,  it can be a real heartbreaker.   OK,  not really, I just like to “go on” a little.

 

Thankfully my hike down to the train station yesterday was worth the effort. 

For anyone who has just tuned in, there’s a multitude of shopping in the “Westbahnhof”,  and I thought I’d try out the Merkur to see if there was any Miracle Whip®.    Sorry,  mayonnaise would never do.  Gross.  Gah!  Couldn’t do it. 

It was probably a good thing there wasn’t anyone within earshot,  since I’m pretty sure I did make just a tiny little gasping sound when I rounded the corner and saw this:

*gasp*!

Look at them all!   Good thing I hadn’t had my shower for the day, since I’m reasonably certain I pooped just tiny bit.

 

But,  never fear.  I was calm, *puts on glasses*  since I thought I’d better take a little look at the expiry dates on them things. 

Good until November!  Hey,  we don’t have to move yet! That’s a relief!

But,  how many to take?  So hard to decide. 

Don’t want to go too crazy here,  so I’ll only buy three.  

 

 

And you thought maybe I was jerking your chain when it came to the spelling?  Nope.  Mind you,  like Bea said yesterday,  they should have used a “k” instead of a “c”.  Sometimes I wonder.  I see too much mixing up of the languages these days.  Just stick with one or the other.

Not as bad as in Japan I suppose.

 

Looking down Mariahilferstraße yesterday afternoon.  It was a nice day for a walk.

 

I haven’t taken any pictures TODAY,  since the weather has taken a wee bit of a turn for the worse.  Kind of cool,  rainy and gusty.   Has to happen I suppose,  or we won’t have any crops later.

 

********

 

You may be wondering what happened with the bank card fiasco?  Well,  not too danged much.  The Branch Manager didn’t call me, in spite of her saying she’d call “either way”.   Of course,  that to me is only another example of them living up to my expectations.   My expectations are pretty low.   I tried the card again this morning,  and it’s “invalid”.   Looks like we’ll be transferring money from Scotiabank to Bank Austria.   Bleah!

 

And that reminds me of a cute little story.   Pull up a chair. 

As some of us tend to do when we get a little long in the tooth,  we try to set aside a couple shekels in a sock drawer as best we can.  However, a few years back,  Travelling Companion and I started to get a little frustrated with having so many sock drawers on the go, so to speak, and upon the recommendation of a young lad I used to sail with,  we decided to enlist the services of his “guy”.   Now,  admittedly this “guy” likes to sell his funds and such,  but he’ll pretty much do whatever we ask.  AND,  truth be told,  since I do have a certain amount of time on my hands, I would venture to say that my knowledge of (for example) dividend producing stocks is,  by this point in the game,  vastly superior to his.   I mean,  I only have T.C. and I to look after,  he’s got a whole heap of clients.   I’ll give him that much.

So we met up with this “guy”,  went over a couple things,  and then over the course of the next month or so began transferring our meagre shekels into a set of accounts where we could keep tabs on things.   Much easier for the dithering old folks,  don’t you know.

I’m not sure exactly when it was,  maybe a couple months after that,  but on a Monday (I remember it was a Monday)  I came home from work and there had been a phone call,  with a message from the bank!   Oh,  please contact us!   It was some guy named Tony,  or something.  I had never heard of him,  and it wasn’t from the local branch. 

“Strange”, I thought,  since everything seemed fine,  but I called him back,  only to get his voice mail.   Oh,  and I left him my cell number,  just in case.

So,  WEDNESDAY this guy calls me back.  (By this point I had forgotten about this chimp)  

“Oh”  sez Tony,  “We see that you’ve been moving your money out. Is there a problem?”  

Well,  not any more.

Now,  not that it was any of this twits business,  but I went on to explain to him about how we now felt the need of a “guy”  to help us sort out our investments.   Oh wait,  I mean shekels from our sock drawer.   Whatever.

He didn’t think that was a good idea!  (Well,  of course he wouldn’t,  but it’s not his money,  now is it?)

And here,  edited for clarity, is pretty much what I said to him:

*ahem*

“Well,  the thing is,  you’re idea of ‘service’ and my idea of ‘service’ don’t seem to be anywhere close to being the same.  You think it’s going to “cost” me to deal with this “guy”?  Well,  it’s costing me to deal with you people. We won’t even get into what it has cost us so far due to the lousy returns that you’ve provided up until now. Let’s not even talk about your lousy service.

Mostly though, here’s the thing.  You called Monday.  I called you back.  What day is it?”

*silence on the other end*

 

 

“Right.  See, if at say,  seven in the morning,  I have some idea or other and decide to call my “guy”,  even though I know he’s not at his office until nine,  you know what happens?  At about 9:05 a.m.,  after he’s had a chance to pour himself a coffee and hang up his jacket,  HE CALLS ME BACK!  It’s the same day!  What a concept!”

I think he “got it”. 

I didn’t yell,  but I didn’t mince any words either.  Stupid little sh*t.   We didn’t hear from “Tony” again.

 

So,  Branch Manager Lady not calling me back?   Just another little strike against them.  We won’t be dealing with Scotiabank for too much longer I’m afraid.   It’s a bit of a pain to change banks,  but it’s going to be time to completely sever the ties as soon as we can.   Can’t say when that’s going to be,  since it’s heaps easier if we’re actually in the country.  And this isn’t just recent either.  It’s a “slow burn” that goes way back to when we lived in Puerto Rico.  

Actually no, wait! Before that,  when T.C. was living in Horseheads, N.Y. and I’d have to transfer money to our account in the Chemung Canal Trust Company,  and the tellers didn’t know how to do it.  Got so that I’d take the forms home with me,  fill one out,  bring it in,  tell the dummy behind the counter where to put in the amount and the exchange,  sign it,  and do the transfer.   Um ya, they were that stupid.

And no,  I’m not looking for a job as a bank teller.

 

That’s about it for today’s blather.

Keep those pencils sharp.   I think some folks are doing something called, “taxes”?  What’s that?

 

Thanks for coming by.

 

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Life without Miracle Whip®

If physical properties could somehow be attributed to a person’s state of mind,  mine is in a tailspin.

I might even be too upset and distracted to put together any kind of coherent thoughts today.   Oh wait, I haven’t been able to do that yet anyway!  *snort!*

Who am I trying to kid?

(yes,  I know it’s “whom”,  but who says that?)

For time immemorial,  or in our case since we moved to Europe,  there has always been “The Search”.   Searching for that ONE THING that you need,  or think you need.  Peanut butter comes to mind.  I can only get one kind.  It’s Skippy,  and I can get “Crunchy” or “Smooth”.  I screwed up once and got “Crunchy”.   I ate it,  but I don’t really like “Crunchy”.   Oh,  and it’s horridly expensive.  Like,  €2,99 for this tiny little jar.

Now,  if you’re not quite sure just how much (or how little)  240 grams is,  let me just demonstrate.

 

Apparently there’s an international standard for clothes pins,  since the ones we have here are the same size as the ones we have back home.  Hey, they can do it with seat belts, so clothes pins aren’t that much of a stretch. 

By the way,  the Dutch word for “clothes pin” is “wasknijper”.   I haven’t a clue what they’re called in German,  since I bought our clothespins in the Netherlands.   I suppose I could look it up, but why bother?   These are not the kinds of things one learns when one receives one’s Degree in German Literature.    So if any of you have plans to get a degree in German Literature so you can then go shopping?   Not really the best plan.

Just thought I’d point that out.

 

OK fine,  I looked it up just now,  and the German word for clothes pin is, Wäscheklammer

Are we happy now?

I tried (once, only) some peanut butter I found at some “Exotic” food store over on the Gürtel.  It was pretty horrid.  My impression of that place is,  they just buy up all the cr*p that’s expired and can no longer be sold to actual grocery stores.  So much for that idea.

 

For any of you who have a memory better than mine,  you may recall that I could get the “true”  Miracle Whip up in Denmark.  Any time we’d take a hike up there so Travelling Companion could visit one of her locations in Vejle, I’d make sure to buy two or three jars.   I’ve put in a handy dandy Google Maps link for anyone wanting a quick geography lesson.  And it’s pronounced “ʋɑɪ̯lə” .   Um OK, “Vy'-la”  (as in I’m “vying” for a job) with the “uh”  at the end sort of being the sound you make when you tug on a recalcitrant door handle.   You’ll have to figure that out.

Like I said,  I’d buy two or three jars.  I’m well acquainted with at least ONE person who has a real hang up about expiry dates,  so there was little hope of truly stocking up. I won’t mention any names.  I really couldn’t tell you how expensive it was,  since I was paying with Danish Kroners,  and I didn’t care anyway.  I was just tickled to find Miracle Whip.

So when we moved down here to Wienerland in 09,  we brought with us the remnants of our precious cargo of Miracle Whip,  but soon discovered that we were starting to run out.   It was time to restart the “Search”.   Crap!

But!  There was good news!   I could at least get the “light” variety at Merkur.   We’re not overly keen on the “light” variety,  but it would have to do.  Kind of like the crunchy peanut butter analogy.

Naturally,  in German it’s spelled ever so slightly different,  since it would otherwise be impossible to pronounce.  Hence,  it’s “Miracel Whip”.   Ya,  spell check doesn’t like that one either.

 

As it so happens,  I made a batch of egg salad the other day,  and since my ultimate jar of Miracle Whip was nearly down to the bottom,  it was time for some more.   I even broke down and ASKED someone where the heck it had gotten to, after wandering up and down the aisle a half dozen times.  The clerk even knew what I was talking about, (I know!) managed to find the old label on the rack,  showing the product and price,  and then proceeded to point out that,  there was something on there to indicate (hey,  I didn’t have my glasses on)  that it was highly unlikely that they’d ever be getting it again. 

“Höchst unwahrscheinlich”,  were his exact words. 

My butt cheeks clenched ever so slightly at that moment.

 

In certain circumstances I’m pretty good at keeping my emotions in check,  but INSIDE, just then I was thinking, “Are you f**king kidding me???    Now what?”

I’m getting a little upset as I type this…

*breathe deeply*

 

 

I recall we picked up some last June on our way back from Bonn.   I think it was somewhere outside of Regensburg but, *sniff* I don’t really remember!    Why didn’t I write it down?  Oh why?  

But really,  the chances of me driving to Regensburg (if that was indeed the place) for a couple jars of Miracle Whip are pretty damned slim. 

 

I might take a walk down to the Westbahnhof and see if the Merkur there has any old stock hanging around.  Other than that,  I got nothin’.    We’re pooched.  

I think maybe it’s time to move.   Just has to be to some country where they have Miracle Whip.  

Here are the criteria. 

Languages spoken in order of familiarity:

German,  French,  Dutch,  Spanish.   Any country with any combination of the above.   BUT,  only if they sell Miracle Whip.

Oh,  and I suppose English is another possibility.  Forgot that one!  Ha!   And well, there’s that smattering of Russian, but are you kidding??

 

Now really,  is that too much to ask?

 

Moving along…

 

 

I took a pic of this week’s banana bread offering,  so here it is.  On the left is the remnants of last week’s.  It only really lasts about four days,  and then starts to get pretty dry.

 

 

Right.  I’m outta here. 

 

Keep those sticks on the ice.

 

Thanks for lookin’.

 

 

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Oh the banks!

There are times when I secretly wish we didn’t have to have a bank account.  Honestly.

Which,  by the way,  makes me think of an older gentleman who used to live in the tiny village not too far from the dump where we grew up as kids.    OK fine,  it was a farm,  but it had a rather pronounced  “Little house on the Prairies”  theme happening.   Let’s not go there.

At one point in time my Dad worked at CFB Greenwood,  and he and this gentleman would “commute” together.  Actually,  this was a long,  long time before the idea of car-pooling ever became popular.  Hm,  I guess they were pioneers.  Which brings us back to the “Little House”  theme again.  Gah!

Well,  this old fellow was pretty frugal.  I remember my Dad saying he wore the same pair of rubber boots for as long as he could remember.  The term he used was actually “Lumberman Rubbers”.  I know that sounds like a prophylactic,  but it was some sort of rubber boot-like footwear.  The best reference I could come up with was an advertisement from the Stanstead Journal from 1911.

Yes kids.  1911.

Anyway,  he wore those same boots for a long,  long time. We’re talking a couple decades here, maybe longer.  That was the other reason for the whole “car pooling” thing.  Even though gas was probably about 19¢ a gallon,  it was all about saving money.   Turns out that when he died,  there were several thousands of dollars tucked away in his house.   By that I mean,  over $50,000.   He just never spent a dime.  And never put it in the bank either,  apparently.

Now,  I’m not quite that bad.    Why,  just yesterday I did manage to throw out a sock that had a hole in it.  Maybe I threw out the pair?  I’d have to check,  since I don’t recall.  Sometimes I will keep “the good one” just in case it might mysteriously mate up with one that’s off there by its lonesome.  Seems a waste to turf out a perfectly good sock,  even if there’s no mate.   Even though I might have turfed out that one good sock with its holy mate,  I’m by no means advocating wastefulness.  I’m just saying.

 

So where was I?

Right.  The flippin’ banks!

It so happened that the coffers were getting a tad low by Saturday afternoon,  so on our way out to do a little grocery shopping together,  Travelling Companion and I stopped in at the Bank Austria location out on Mariahilferstaße to use an ATM,  only to discover that my bank card was “invalid”.   What? 

Tried a couple different machines with our two different cards,  and got the same result.  Can’t get any money.  Dang!

I should just say that,  I can take cash out of Bank Austria,  since we have an account there,  along with a couple bank cards and all that,  but that money is to pay the bills.  Our “walking around” money comes out of our account at Scotiabank,  back home.   Besides,  if I take Euros out of Bank Austria,  we just have to go through the rigmarole of transferring it back in again from Canada.  That’s where T.C. gets paid.   It’s complicated,  and we won’t go there either.

 

So,  there is a number on the back of the card that you can call.  Of course,  it’s an 800 number if you’re in North America somewhere,  but if you’re not,  then you call the number in the 416 area code direct,  or “call collect”.   I don’t know what that means,  since I’ve never been able to call collect.  Turns out,  there’s nothing wrong at the bank end of things,  but on the two occasions that I called the 24/7 service centre in Toronto,  there was really no explanation given.   No “hold” on our account or any of that kind of stuff.  And no other clue to speak of.

What that meant was,  having to call the branch. *sigh* Have you ever tried to actually contact any of those people wandering around behind the scenes at your local bank?  Good luck with that.  

So first I called the “Manager of Customer Service”,  only to discover that she’s off this week.  OK,  but wouldn’t you use that thing called,  “call forwarding”  and have the call go to one of the people working there?   Just an idea.  So I didn’t bother leaving a message with her.

Then I dug through our little treasure trove of business cards and such,  and came up with a card from the Branch Manager.   Hopefully they still have the same one.  They seem to change them more often than I throw out a holy sock.

Ended up getting her voice mail,  and the message she had left was from last Thursday.  I didn’t think that was a good sign.   Good Friday was a holiday of course,  but this was already Monday morning,  and the bank had been open for a while.  

I diligently left my Austrian phone number (that’s not that simple,  trust me,  it’s thirteen digits)  but then thought I’d call the service centre again,  to see if there had been any changes.   The results were the same there of course,  since everything look “OK” from their end.  I wanted to be certain that I understood that the banks were indeed open on “Easter Monday”,  and was assured that they were,  but they had only been “open for a half hour or so”.   By then it was 11:00 a.m. at the branch.  Please.  What are you doing?  Pick up the stinkin’ phone!

By the way,  if you want to read this aloud in the style of Andy Rooney,  I’d completely understand.  It’s starting to sound that way to me.

It turns out of course,  that Travelling Companion was going to be late yet again last night,  so that meant that the two of us got in the door (I had chauffeured,  remember) some time around 8:30 p.m.    I though I’d try my luck with the bank one last time for the day,  left a message AGAIN (and this woman had still not changed her last message from Thursday) and lo and behold,  twenty minutes later the phone rang!   It was the Manager.   Thank goodness I was sitting down.

 

Long story short,  like that’s a possibility at this point,  there’s nothing wrong with the cards or the account,  it’s some sort of glitch in the network.  It so happens that the Branch Manager had experienced the same problem just the other day,  and is waiting to hear from wherever,   as to whether or not this issue will get resolved over the next day or so.  

She says she’ll call me back today.  Right.

Let’s hold our breath,  shall we?

 

No pictures today,  but I did surreptitiously take this one when T.C. and I were in the grocery store.   It didn’t quite turn out,  but if you click on it you’ll notice the staff are wearing their bunny ears.   Swell.

 

Thanks for moving your eyes back and forth.

 

Enjoy the rest of your day.

 

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