Damnit, Nephele!

I went to deposit a check today.

I actually got all the way to the bank doors and read the sign before I remembered that I saw a similar sign a few weeks back, warning people that the bank would be honoring Columbus Day by refusing to serve people.

On a more local level, this means I don't have cash. Which means I'm writing this, instead of celebrating having money with a nice, juicy burger for my lunch break.

I don't know if there's a Holidays, but this whole predicament stinks of Nephele Nikolatis. She's Festivals, and I'd be surprised if she doesn't have a twinkle of power over holidays, too. Too many holidays (of the National sort), mean harder times for the people that have it hardest. For instance, the buses don't usually run on these days. But alot of service industry and factory jobs don't have the day off--so the people most likely to rely on buses (because they can't always afford cars) have to walk, beg a ride, or hire a cab. Banks are closed. So people who depend more on cash transactions are inconvenienced more than people who have enough in the bank (and investments) that they usually don't need to be careful of how they use their debit cards.

I'm sure I could think of more ways this is dragging the little man down further, but it just occurred to me that I could change a person's death into a cheeseburger. With or without bacon.

It'd be a strain, but it could be a really, really awesome burger, with fries. Soda I can get for free (and I need to get back to work after this, so no beer, sadly). Imagine the surprise....

"Ow! I just got hit and run over by that car. My...my neck feels wrong--I can't straighten it out...and that goth guy is just smiling, watching me while eating a cheeseburger? What the hell?"

For the record, I'm not goth. Well, maybe I am, but it's not really a life choice. I've become...hue-challenged. Anyway.

I can't just do that sort of thing, though--of course I can't. The poor victim would probably eventually lose it, convinced that he should be dead, but convinced that he's fine. He'd start seeing things--maybe his death would start talking to him, and then he'd be stuck. Dementia animus, loony bin time. Or, even if he was fine, I'd probably get a visit from something like Destiny or Fate. Or I'd be called in to talk to Him.

I should be getting back to work. If you're reading this, Festivals---give a guy a break for the next one, okay?

~Death