From January 2, 2009–Why They Call Me Crazy Lady

Posted on January 3, 2011


Why they call me crazy lady….     Edit

       Some of the little kids were asking me why I’m “affectionately” (?) known in the hood as “Crazy Lady.”  I think what happened on December 26 sort of clears up that mystery.

         “Goldenlawn” uses up almost as much petrolium as my station wagon.  Kosco just parks outside and puts me on Permapump, and last year I still ran out of oil, they couldn’t keep up with me.  My HEAP check never arrived at Kosco (our tax dollars at work, again, folks) so on December 26 I stopped off at the ATM at the Chase Bank at 301 Wall Street to make a $200 withdrawal from my accrued Unemployment benefits so I could pay Kosco.

        I followed the directions I had been mailed with my Unemployment debit card very carefully as I used the ATM, but to no avail.  It dispensed my $200, and then before I could blink, alarms sounded, lights flashed, and my $200 was sucked back into the machine.  I was given a receipt showing that I had withdrawn $200.

        The next half hour would have been hilarious if I had been watching it happen to someone else in a movie.  Less so when it was happening to me.   The Chase Bank at 301 Wall Street  disavowed any responsibility for THEIR ATM in THEIR lobby, and kept insisting that I call “the number on the back of my card.”   I had already called that number so often I had it memorized.  It leads to a call center in India somewhere.  I knew that a call center in India would have no ability or authority to unlock an ATM in Kingston, NY and find where my $200 was jammed.  The teller, who refused to give me her name, said she would call “the number on the back of the card” and instead she called the police, because I would not leave the bank without my money, since I had a fraudulent receipt that I had received money I had not received.

        Okay, folks, here is your tax dollars at work again.   The call was answered by four stalwart members of the KPD.   One was a recent graduate of that police school they have over at the BRC, but the other three were  veterans of the force.  They were all–how do I put this in a politically correct manner?  Slenderness challenged.  Two of them were in bulletproof vests.   They  arrived in at least  two police cars.  They kept repeating the official line that I needed to call a call center in India to get the $200 that was stuck in an ATM ten feet away.   I was willing to leave with them, but not without warning all the people waiting in line to use the bank that they could be the next ones ripped up by this facility.  If I had warned of a sinsiter thug waiting in the lbby to rob bank patrons, I would have been a hero.  As it was, I was arrested, my handbag was torn from my grip (I’d like to see them try that before the Parkinson’s) and I spent an hour chained to a bench that was almost as uncomfortable as the press bench at Kingston City Hall used to be.  Since there was nothing to do but watch my wrist swell (we do remember my poorly knit broken right wrist, don’t we?) I had plenty of time to reflect on the officers’ insulting and politically incorrect comments that I should go to the psych ward at Benedictine.

       Once again, I had to conclude that they were right.

        I make $118 a week in unemployment.  I had just paid four $35,000 a year cops for two hours, and bought gas for two police cruisers, so that they could aid and abet the robbery of a disabled unemployed senior citizen.  And the biggest of the lot had the brass cojones to say I wasn’t paying them enough.

       Of course, sooner or later, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber had to unlock me from the bench, and, possibly noting my swelling wrist, I was driven back to my car.  Within ten minutes, I was on the computer, and then the snowflakes hit the fan.

       Out of respect for their fine police work, I have suggested to Police Chief Keller and Mayor Sottile that members of the police force be encouraged in their fitness goals, by fining them $100 a week for each pound they are, over the optimem weight for their height and age.  That would balence the budget in short order.  If they didn’t like it, they could always get a job as bouncer for some local bar where they could pick on people closer to their own size and age.

        I got robbed of $200 and they arrest ME?   They thought an operator at a call center in India was going to come to Kingston and reapir the Chase Bank ATM?  And they think I am qualified for the psych ward?  Hey, I’m paying for their health insurence, let’s send the boys up to Benedictine to see if their job is getting to them.   I know that isn’t my problem, I don’t HAVE a job.

       My court appearence is for January 5.  If I don’t show up at the Kingston Cares meeting on January 8, will someone please check and see if my dogs have been fed?  And remember, the next time you go into the Chase bank, if it happened to me, it could happen to you!   In fact it probably will.   The journalist doing a story on my experience discovered that the telephone number in the Verizon Phone book for that branch of Chase has been disconnected, and I have since verified–that branch of Chase bank is closing in February..  Another empty storefront in the historic Stockade area.   Until it closes, look for my educational  leafletting in the area of the bank–the least I can do is to let other potential victims know who to call if they are defrauded as I was.

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