Monday, July 10, 2006

Confessional of a terminal fool (part one of many no doubt)

So I was in the bank the other day, mouthing off to their customer service lady about their crap service... as ya do.

It was one of them days; you know wander up road, eft-pos some cash, buy fags kind of days or at least it should have been. But alas my eft-pos card was declined, as it had expired.

Thus into the bank I did trapse anger and malice on my mind. Friendly, helpful lady gets a earfull of my hatred of my bank - a long term condition that I feel justified in, for I bank and isn't that enough?

About halfway through my diatribe it struck me, this feels like deja vu and in a nano second my vocal outburst starting to revert back to the generally nice tones and friendly manner I usually employ as my foolishness started to sink into my mind - I'd done this before, not the bank me, I was at fault here not that I was going to let on to nice, friendly bank lady.

As she accepted my expired drivers license (I never updated to the new fangled ones, um, many years ago) to prove I exist, I once again realised I have nothing much that actually proves without huge doubt I am who I think I am, a terminal fool and plonker and human man to boot.

Well anyways the lady cancels the eft-pos card that had been sent out to my home (which I'd denied recieving) and organises a new one to be delievered to the branch for my collection today. She organises for a teller to sort me some cash and I leave head held high, muttering under my breath wot a fool am I.

The new card I shall of course collect sometime this week, probably 5 minutes after I realise I need some cash and don't have a working piece of plastic. I do hope the same lady is there as I don't realish the prospect of trying to prove I do actually live in this body, for none of the documentaion I have is current, contains a photograph or has evidence that I can actually consistantly sign my name ina similar child like scrawl as the one emplyed on any occassion that may be used as evidence.

Of course what I had realised part way through my rant at poor bank drone, was that I most certainly did recieve the cards sent out, but as I never open my bank mail I hadn't actually sighted said card or signed it immediately as they advise.

No big deal really, a simple oversight easily rectified. Or is it? For this is the third or fourth (maybe fifth) piece of plastic the bank has sent me in the past decade and on each and every occassion the same performance is undertaken by myself.

What is it about bank mail and me?

Why don't I learn from my stupid past behaviours, christ I am meant to be a grown up - grown ups don't behave like this - at least not in my mind, body maybe.

Theres a lesson to be learnt here Bob and fuck me if I've already forgotten what it was.

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