…a good deed shines in a weary world.

After Monday’s infuriating debacle on the phone with CitiGroup, I was honestly dreading the phone call I had to make yesterday. When they tell you to “call back on Thursday,” it’s rarely because you’re going to hear good news.

It started the same: talking to some nice (albeit clueless) basement-level droid. Chris, after asking me the standard verification questions, said, “OK, how can we help you today? Oh, I see we have an escrow issue.” I gave him the spiel in the smallest nutshell I could devise, and he said, “Ma’am, I’m going to escalate this past the next level, to a division manager. We are going to get this fixed. Stay with me.”

I yawned. Been there, heard that, got the headache.

Then “Bobbie” came on board. As I recounted my sad tale, she asked questions along the way. After each answer, she said things like, “Yep, I see that here.” Then she interrupted me and said, “I’m sorry, but something is happening on my screen right now — as we’re talking.” I asked oh really, what? She said, “The correct amounts are being applied in realtime, as I sit here looking at my monitor. The changes have now been made. You’re all set!”

I sat in silence for a moment, then said, “You know, Bobbie, you will surely understand if I tell you that I’m a bit skeptical. I’ve heard those words from you guys before.” She laughed and said she didn’t blame me, but that I should go into my online account and look.

So I logged into my account, clicked on “Insurance and Escrow,” and there it was. Fixed. Not only was it fixed, but my adjusted mortgage payment is $9 lower, instead of gobs higher while being smacked with bogus late charges because they didn’t apply the escrow overage where they should have. Bobbie also told me that all red flags were removed from my account, and that my perfect payment record was restored.

Dare I speak it? All’s well that ends well. But I’ll be on the lookout for that other shoe, thanks all the same.

Speaking of awesome people and good deeds: my cast and crew rolled out the welcome mat for Jake and Justin’s trick-or-treat visit to rehearsal last night. They clapped when they saw Superman and Spiderman enter the room, and they gave them treats. Fantastic night.

And now it’s Finkday. And dress-down day at school. And the last football game. And payday. Allllll rolled into one. Go ahead and beat that, whydon’tya.

Hey, looky here what I got in the mail yesterday. Look out, family. New cake experiences forthcoming.

The author, Meg Ray, chef and owner of the pastry shop in San Francisco where these treats are created, says she has a “cup of coffee and a slice of cake for breakfast every morning.”

Wouldn’t have to ask me twice.

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Thank the gods for Akismet. Not only does it protect bloggers from idiot comment spammers, but also protects them from idiot comment spammers’ bots. Can you imagine hitting hundreds of blogs per day and thinking up this stuff?

For a free plugin — heck, even if it came with a price — this is probably the single best thing out there. In February, RtB will be four years old, and I can’t recall even one spam comment sliding through. Makes me wonder why some major sites (many of them entertainment oriented) don’t take advantage of this script. I see a lot of comment spam on articles.

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We open in nine days.  Monday night marked the beginning of run-throughs at rehearsal. Gotta get the performers used to connecting the dots. On the readiness scale, we’re about halfway. Three more weeks oughta do it.

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We pick up the Finkmobile today, in its half-repaired state. I wonder what it’ll look like. Probably about the same, but without the fender grinding against the front tire. Hopefully, anyway.

Halfway to the weekend, yay. Hey, RtB fiend Suzanne will be in the States for a couple of weeks. Hope to enjoy a phone call with her while she’s in sunny Michigan.

Remember the brouhaha with my mortgage company being slimy thieves? Well get a load of this little gem.

We’ve been working with quite possibly the only sane person at CitiGroup: Ellen. She has been our port in the storm; our life preserver in an ocean of The Right Hand Hasn’t a Clue What the Left Hand is Doing. One enormous corporate monster with one employee capable of cogent thought. PTL. She put everything in motion to solve the idiotic mess her company created for us. She told me (after talking me down from the ledge last week) to call yesterday and make sure everything was put in place, and that she was so sorry that we’d been dragged through the mud like this. I texted the Thriller and said, “I think we’re finally out of the woods.”

After my last class left yesterday (and after a pretty good day of rehearsals), I called her. The customer service robot answered and I said, “Hello, may I speak with Ellen in the escrow office please?” Her response:

“Oh, yes. Well, Ellen took a position with another company.”

[This space intentionally left blank.]

Back to the drawing board — or to the Funny Farm, where life is beautiful all the time.

The Finkmobile. She is cursed.

Bambi’s mom. She is dead.

After all that hassle with the body shop on the last go-around…now this. Same side of the car, same sort of damage. What can you do but laugh? (And pay the deductible?)

It was dark yesterday morning, and — irony of ironies — I decided to take a main state route to school instead of the rural one, in order to avoid the deer. Eeeeyep. The gigantic doe appeared out of nowhere, about five minutes outside the city limits. I didn’t even apply my brakes until after the collision. My priority at the time was not locating the deer, but avoiding the oncoming school bus, which I did. Fortunately, I was near the Bailey Lakes General Store, so I hobbled into their parking lot, got out, and eyeballed the damage.

After getting under the front end and dislodging a piece of bumper that was stuck between the fender assembly and the brand new tires we’d had mounted just last week, I got back on the road to school, as the car was basically driveable. I must admit though, to quote Lynyrd Skynyrd: I was shakin’ like a leaf on a tree.

Of course, the first question my middle school (and some high school) students asked was, “Did you go back and get the doe so you could take it home and eat it?” *massaging massive headache* Yeah, sure thing, kids. That’s what I did, yep.

Calgon…

At least she was gone by the time I drove home from rehearsal last night. I dreaded finding her there. Actually, a colleague called me on his way home from school and told me he couldn’t find it on the side of the road, so that was a good thing. An avid deer hunter himself, he added, “Some hillbilly probably picked it up and cooked it for dinner.” Ha. Anyway, nothing like returning to scene of the crime and discovering the corpse still there, indicting you with its dead eyes. Glad I avoided that.

So, once again, we start the process of estimates, paperwork, phone calls, appointments and repairs. One thing’s for sure: we won’t be going back to the World’s Worst Body Shop Ever. I’m no good to anyone if I’m sitting in jail.

Fink out (of the deer huntin’ bizniss)

Overslept by 40 minutes. Innat great? And on a Monday, too.

Niiiiice.