Closing Time.

I may barf. It's not just because those two words up there remind me of that really annoying song, but today is the day I close on The House. Oh. My head. I'm not good at spending over 100 dollars. So imagine my Walk of a Thousand Green Miles to my local bank for the cashier's check of, well, more that 100 dollars.

This is supposed to be an exciting time. It depends on how you look at it.

For the thrillseekers out there, I suggest you get The New Guy at the bank who greets you with only a yawn and no May I Help You, who can't process your request of Change of Address, who mumbles sideways to his co-worker "How do I access a savings account", and who may or may not have just completed his first cashier's check ever.

That last bit alone makes us even in basic teller skills, mostly because I have never been trained for that job either. But I clearly had the edge when he pushed the check across the desk at me and I had to prompt him with a "Don't you want to sign it?"

Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Why I Have That Look on my face most days. And you know what? Whomever said it was right: it will stick that way after time.

Wish me luck, and goat offerings on my behalf will be greatly appreciated.