On the little things.

Dear Coquette,

I am an 18-year-old waitress with $2,500 to my name. Although I am making this decision after Occupy has gone into hibernation and moving money from big banks might seem passé, I am still having trouble deciding where I should put it. Should I find a groovy small bank or credit union to support with my big bucks? Should I yield it gracefully to Chase or Citibank? Should I put it under the mattress and sleep on it? I understand that my case doesn’t really matter, but I have gotten the impression that in the aggregate it might, and since you seem like a woman with the temperament for banking, I thought it might be worth it to ask.

It’s your money, and it does matter where you put it. All politics aside, choose the institution where you get the best product. It’s not just about interest rates and ATM fees. It’s also about customer service, and these days, a local bank or credit union is a solid choice if you’d rather do business with human beings than robots at the other end of 1-800 numbers.

I told my boyfriend that a guy at the office was harassing me and I was going to report him, and he flipped out at me saying I was hiding things by not telling him right away. He said it was nearly cheating on him since I let the harassment happen. I’m totally justified in kicking him to the curb, right? Or should I listen to my mom who says he’s not out of line here?

Your boyfriend’s ego was bruised because you didn’t confide in him about the harassment, but that’s no excuse for his victim blaming. It’s outrageous for him to suggest that you “let the harassment happen” as if it were somehow your fault, and it’s a huge red flag for him to associate infidelity with someone else’s inappropriate behavior. If you’ve told me all there is to the story, then he’s definitely out of line and you’re justified in kicking him to the curb.

I am terrified of the imminent climate change catastrophes our lifetime will bring. I’m prepared to face the end of our standard of living in the U.S., but the rising temperatures and burning forests don’t lie. Should I just savor the present moment until I can’t anymore?

It’s kind of hard to savor the present moment when you’re busy projecting your own fear of mortality onto the weather. The sky isn’t falling, Chicken Little. You’ve just got a mild anxiety disorder.

I am gay and live in the South. As silly as it is, the Chick-fil-A thing is troubling. How can so many people be so proud to get in line and make the statement that they are opposed to my existence? This includes coworkers and my boss. And how do I avoid degenerating into a clot of anger and defensiveness?

Do your best not to take their ignorance personally. It’s ugly and pathetic, but it isn’t worth your anger. Let the pointy-headed numnards eat their stupid chicken, and take comfort in the fact that history will not be kind to them.

How do I tell my boyfriend that I hate and am terribly unattracted to his new goatee?

Use your words, darling. Just look him in the eye and say, “Dude, I hate your goatee. It makes you look like a pretentious douche, and I want you to shave it off immediately.”


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