Visa and MasterCard have made of their own employees the mildly annoying trash mobs farmed as part of a daily quest whose reward is stripping points away from their own, once eldritchian, health bars.
I started writing this as a sort of follow up to yesterday's story, but wow, I don't want to let that shit keep taking up space in my head.
I'm trying to write more in general, it's something I find too easy to simply put off over and over again until I suddenly realize I haven't posted on my site in a month. It's always felt odd because I enjoy writing. I love feeling the words flow out of me onto the page. (I don't love that I keep having to use my tablet to shoo away wasps!)
Sure, call your reps, see if they answer the phone. But, first, call and email Visa, Mastercard, PayPal, and Stripe. Tell them, respectfully, those customer service folks didn't do shit to you, what you want and what you will do if you don't get it.
Stop letting white suprematists and Nazis decide what artist is allowed to eat or have a roof over her head because making a phone call or writing an email is hard.
Yeah, it was the Fibonacci sequence.
Apologies, this was supposed to be out a few days ago but between a therapist mandated grieving day and a date; well, explaining my poetry rules sort of fell by the wayside.