Tuesday, July 07, 2009

It's Not Easy Being This Charming

Little things mean a lot.

With every little step I take, I'm hoping it is moving me forward to being far away, someday.

That's why I ended up going to a different bank yesterday and opening up a new account. STBX and I banked at a local bank which wouldn't be so good someday, when I move.

I like my present bank. I have never felt like they were trying to sell me on anything and for some strange reason, they actually make me feel like they care.

Yeah, I know. Dillusion can be a comforting thing at times.

But my daughter had opened up her first checking account at this new bank because it will be portable across the country so I figured that was a pretty good idea.

Let's just say, I wasn't at my perkiest yesterday. And my bullshit detector was on high alert.

Did you know that because my employer banks at this bank, I am able to receive a "gold account"? Why, I feel so special! And a gold account comes with a whole host of things that I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT.

But it's free! It's free! Don't I want to be able to get a great rate on a new mortgage and an endless line of credit??? It's free! We'll just be making automatic changes to your checking account and moving money to savings every month and no, you can't cancel it, but you can go in on the day that we make the transfer and transfer the money back. Now, doesn't that sound like a great feature? And if you forget to transfer the money back, you'll start bouncing checks! Hooray!

Here is twenty five yards of rope, place it around your neck and jump off that cliff over there. When you get to the end, stop...

Halfway through her speal, I stopped her and asked if there wasn't a basic checking account that was free.

She looked like I had crapped on Christmas.

"But all of these features are free..."

"Yeah, it's free for me to eat out of the garbage in front of the DTA but it doesn't mean that I want to. Since I'm the customer, it should be what I WANT, not what you want to SELL me."

She then pulled out the "basic" checking speal and started signing me up for it. Halfway through, she tells me that I will have overdraft protection in the form of a credit card which she is signing me up for.

"I don't want a fuckin' credit card! I want a straight forward checking account."

I'm finding that my use of explitives is creeping into my everyday frustration and I have stopped apologizing for it. I am so tired of people trying to SELL me stuff.

I should have told her that the only way her bank would be making money off me is on overdraft fees so really, she isn't doing herself any favors by signing me up for a line of credit.

"Well, I'm already halfway through and I can't cancel it now. You'll just have to cancel it when you get the card."

It was at this point that I very nearly walked out. I'm not coming to your bank to be given homework. I want to deposit money and then eventualy, use it. I don't want you to automatically do anything to my account. I WANT YOU TO KEEP YOUR DAMN HANDS OUT OF MY BUSINESS. JUST LET ME BE!

Since you are trapped, while waiting in line, by watching a large screen television which had coverage of Michael Jackson going (cuz NOTHING ELSE IS HAPPENING IN THE WORLD), she kept trying to make small talk. She was marveling at how long they were taking to get him buried "and I just don't see how they can preserve a body that long".

Ever hear of Lenin?

Trust me, there is no part of that man that could qualify as being normal. He's looked like a walking corpse for years. I'm sure he's going to look exactly the same five years after being six feet under.

I felt like such an exhausted bitch at that point that I didn't even care how I sounded. I very nearly grabbed onto the third rail of his penchant for sleeping with young boys but we finally got up to the window so I let it be.

Yeah. I have money in an account that I can use anywhere I might want to go.

Let's never speak of this again.

1 comment:

Marty said...

Heh heh, "Ever hear of Lenin?"

Good one. She'd probalby think you meant the Beatle, but still . . .