Bullet from a Banker

Ever wonder if banks make money?  I’ll give you a hint:  they have some of the tallest buildings in every city.  Also, their facilities are clean, well-lit, and their employees are equally clean, not to mention well-dressed.  How do banks make money?  Interest and service charges, of course!  The odd repossession here and there to add to the pot, and they’re figuratively rolling in it (literally, if the security cameras are turned around and a little office romance takes place).

But what’s the bullet got to do with it?  Well…  My current situation isn’t great.  I’m not well-educated, I’m not employed in a job that pays well, nor does it have any room for advancement.  The only thing I have going for me is my shop: which isn’t mine.  I occupy roughly one-quarter of a heated warehouse space at work.  It works, but it creates a huge animosity with both coworkers and customers alike.  Why not buy or build my own shop?  Two reasons.

The first reason, is I have a mortgage on my house.  At the moment, the bank won’t let me borrow any more money to do anything, and that certainly won’t change once I have to renew the mortgage with the new “stress tests” in place.  The second reason, is the bank has a “It’ll do” policy in place, or so it seems, where they actually seem to steer single people away from owning homes, even if they can afford it.  “Why would you want the upkeep?” Or how about “what are you going to do with all that space, anyways?”  They claim that the world is trending towards single people in apartments, or condos at the most.  Is it still a trend if someone is being steered there on the rails of big banking?

I lived in an apartment one winter, and it sucked.  Shared laundry?  Awful.  The lint trap was always full, and there was always someone else’s shit in the washing machine during my time slot (shared laundry with a by-number schedule).  How about the smell of other people’s cooking?  Barf.  Luckily, the guy next to me was nice enough to live off of microwave popcorn, and I mostly ate out, but still.  There was always someone in my parking stall, and they were never willing to move without a phone call to the landlord.  Also, everyone (including yourself) is too loud in an apartment building.  You’d think my neighbour would have had the decency to beat his wife silently after 9:00pm, but no.  It was an issue that I tried to deal with MANY times, until the landlord advised me to mind my own business… Sissy.

So what’s a guy to do?  Are hot rods only for the rich or the married?  A lot of hot rodders are single guys like me, big kids with big Hot Wheels, really.  Who dares tell a kid in his thirties or forties “No, just get a condo”?  Bankers, that’s who.  How will it end, you ask?  I don’t know.  Until I find out for sure, I’m getting a cold storage place ready for when I move out of the controversial heated workspace.  The bank can’t force me to sell my tools or my future projects.  Yet, anyways.

I’m Not a Photographer.

I haven’t written for a long time…  Everyone kept telling me I needed more pictures, so since I don’t go anywhere, I don’t take pictures.  Since I don’t take pictures, the only writing I do is take notes for future reference.  Seems like a good idea, right?  Well, I just started tidying up my kitchen island where I do the majority of my writing.  It’s well-lit, a nice height, and four foot by twelve foot, so you just know I’ll never run out of space.  Spoiler alert:  I ran out.

The cat has recently decided that pushing things off the table is fun, so I have to downsize to a manageable level, not to mention add some clips and weights to prevent further feline complication.  How many little notes and ideas have I piled up?  Literally hundreds.  Hundreds of entries shelved because I don’t have enough pictures to put it all together and post it.  That’s not me, I’m a newspaper guy, not a magazine guy.

Long story short,  get ready for more regular entries.  Like pictures?  There’s always Instagram!