written by owen on 2006-Mar-05.

Standing in the line, I thought. Having easy access to my money is like an apple in the garden. Credit cards are evil. I think automated teller machines have something against me, I really don't know why they keep eating my card. So in order to keep myself in cheque I always join the line in the bank - the tellers are more predictable, like airline hostesses. I can also work on my mental map of the bank layout and the comings and goings of armed couriers. The machine quickly and carefully will eat my access card without even a shred of warning, beeping and looking at me funny too. It must have sensed my urgency - need to withdraw. I spend most of my time playing around with computers but yet have I witnessed a [em]spawn of satan so wretched[/em]. If it were not for the fact that it was embedded into the wall I would tip it over and hit it with a garbage bin until it gave me what I was due. Getting that card back from customer services is a pain, I still haven't been back for it since it was abducted 10 months ago.

Women that work in banks are a specific breed. You might think that they are born bad-tempered or aggressively assertive, But in fact it is a process that develops over a undefined period of co-existing with each other in a confined space with tinted glass, millions of dollars in cash and coin. If you spend enough time in a maze like line made out of dividers as I have, you begin to understand why they are the way are when you meet them outside of their natural environment. They often start out as interns or slaves. Then as they earn enough money to buy make-up, they move up in the rankings. Some will quickly gain power while others will forever be asking their supervisor to verify my signature. I pray that I don't get the new girl. You can tell when a teller is new especially when they look at you as if your trying to pass off a fake US dollar cheque then I'm like "yeah, OK, I'll wait". I should have shaved, this morning.

The non-tellers in the background behind the glass walking around counting money or bringing sheets of paper from one side of the building to the other, as if they are building some sort of fire - somewhere - secretly. On some fridays they have a jeans and t-shirt day but it really does nothing for the under paid interns who can't afford makeup. The interns will eventually step up though, get sharper clothes and designer glasses which they can use to make themselves look older and more professional on the job but in fact they are nothing but crumbs on the table. The real movers and shakers are behind the tinted glass up stairs and they will fire an intern the second he or she loses a dollar. At the end of the day everything is checked, balanced, weighted and tallied if everybody follows protocol it goes smoothly and they live to take your money another day.

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