Beleaguered Benefactor

It is the early morning of the, as of yet, hottest day in the Year of Our Lord Two-Thousand & Ten. It will soon be stifling hot, a firm hand of heat on our chests, and burning sensations on the tender ridges of our ears. I remember there was a time when I thought I would rather be cold than hot, but I have changed my mind about that over the course of the last few years.

I would say this because being cold meant staying home, under a blanket with a science fiction paperback, and doing little else. Now it means waking up earlier to scrape the snow off the cars, and more dark hours to ponder my place in the universe- I'd rather not think about it.

I think these hours of reading spent in that warm house, in which my parents still reside, went a long way in building at least some modicum of intelligence; or at least it gave me a penchant for speaking with such.

Soon, I will lead us to an event that occurred last night at a local grocery store, but first some other elements must be established.

I had an idea in my head, a certain image, that I wanted to see put to paper. I did enjoy some notoriety in grade school as a competent artist, but soon came to realize how small fish my efforts to take pencil to paper were. Since then, my artistic ability has atrophied, and I've taken to trolling the Internet for prospective artists to accomplish my goals of bringing a little bit of life to my thoughts.

This has come with a little difficulty, language barriers, explaining things via email, time constraints, and foremost, method of payment.

I'm not going to go too far into explaining why paypal wasn't going to work for this particular artist I had been working with, in so explaining now would ruin a bit of the end. But it looked like the solution was going to be provided by Western Union.
With the advent of online transactions, things were going swimmingly. Navigating Western Union's website and jumping through all the security hoops, I was relieved I wasn't going to have to dig a pair of shorts out of the hamper to leave the house.
But.
There was a problem. I couldn't really understand the man on the phone, something about my phone, there was a problem with my phone number. I'm aware there's a problem with my phone number: it allows people to call me when I'm really just trying to listen to Closer as loud as I can in my car. But that didn't seem to be it. And after asking him to repeat what I think was, "Proceed," for the third time (I was having some difficulty understanding him, but I did get them impression he was really into cows), it looked like I would have to go to an actual Western Union location, or at least a store that would facilitate my transaction via.
I must admit there was, at this point, some resignation that my evening was taking a turn, but I really wanted to complete the transaction.
Before we get into the final part of this, you should know that there were feelings of exasperation building in my chest, like the slow leak of a gas pipe. The first location I tried, recommended by the man on the phone who had probably practiced the word, "Inconvenience" to his bathroom mirror, was not operational. However, I soon found another locale, and was fast on my way.

Before long I was standing slightly below a girl, probably entering her twenties, who stood on a raised platform. It is in my opinion that this girl, responsible for money transfers, in what would become my last attempt of the evening (that's not entirely true), did not while away her winters by reading- anything. I would like you to commend my restraint, in transcribing the following conversation, that I do not spell her words in the phonetic manner in which they were delivered. There will be no, "Dat" for "That".

Girl in Red Smock: Hello, can I help you?

Weapon Mods: Yes, I'd like to make a money transfer, through Western Union?

GRS: Oh, you'll need to fill out that green sheet over there.

WM: Well, yes, but I've already gotten through most of the process. Well, it's pending, they said there was a problem with my phone number? Anyways, I have this code they game me? It would pull up my transfer order?

At this point, we can all see that everyone involved is somewhat confused, and I can't blame anyone for that. Please, continue with me.

GRS: I don't know...what are you trying to do?

WM: I'm trying to send money to Argentina.

GRS: ....What's that?

WM: What's what?....Argentina?

GRS: Yeah, is it a prison?

Reader, I have two wrinkles that have formed over years of pinching my eyebrows together, as if I am constantly asking the world, "What in the fuck is wrong with you?" The glasses don't help, if anything, they lend to making me look like a jackass who spent his winters reading. I know this, and I try to buffer my comments with a coating of congenial mirth, but my tone was about to become rather clipped- in linguistics, it's called Code Switching. Thankfully, only three words came out, and I exited the facility.

WM: It's a country.


Though in all of this I did learn something. Many Spanish speaking countries have no concept of the middle name. Instead, people are named with a unique first name, which is followed by their paternal name, and then the maternal.

This is Dorge Kas Johnson, signing off.