Another day, another world-wide financial panic. When I took this job, they told me the Federal Reserve was part of government, I wouldn't have to work weekends. Personally, I'd like a day off to go jogging, watch a football game, take a nap -- but no, you people won't leave me alone.
First, it was the knuckleheads calling up to see if their bank deposits were safe. Yes, I'd say, and add "you freaking nimrod" under my breath. What does the little FDIC decal say on the bank door?
Then last week, it was the people who stashed their dough in money-market mutual funds. "Didn't you read the fine print?" I'd say. "Deposits are not guaranteed. You wanted to earn a little more money, you were supposed to take some risk." But we can't have that, can we? No, everybody's so spoiled these days. So I caved and said I'd guaranty money market deposits too.
Then yesterday, I get a call from the Town Line Liquor Store in Natick, Massachusetts. Some guy is returning his beer bottles to get a lousy nickel for each one, when the machine spits out a Smutty Nose Blueberry IPA bottle and says "Non-participating container" on the little glow screen. What am I gonna do about it, the guys asks.

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