money: the root of all evil? apparently not

i used to like my banks. they keep my money safe, provide facilities and ready access to my funds when i need it, diligently send me monthly reports of my splurging habits, and even reward me every year with a few dollars to say gee, thanks for letting us take care of your money.

that was until i had to actually deal with the evil wizards who're behind that behemoth realm, them blood sucking incubuses. you see firstly there's the principle that says absolute power corrupts absolutely. we all know too well that money is a necessary evil, and the immense power it wields. so, when you willingly surrender your money to another party, what you're doing is essentially handing over control of your life to someone else.

and when they have your money, your actions are all at the whim and fancy of those evil wizards. you have to fit your schedule according to their preposterous working hours. who the hell closes shop at 3pm in the afternoon? even the laziest of aussies stick to their silly closing time of 5 in the afternoon before heading down to the beach to stick some shrimps on the barbie, or the local pub for a pint and start a bar brawl.


and then they make you wait. and when finally your turn comes, they tell you to wait some more. and when you're all fed up and ready to make a scene or wet yourself, whichever comes first, they politely tell you that they're ready to serve you as if they've been expecting you all along. no offence to the tellers, but deep down inside, i honestly think that it would really make my day if i could punch their faces in.

and that isn't even any where near the end of your endless frustration. all i wanted was a proof of finances and i had the letter of authorization from my dad. i even brought along a sample that they issued me a few months ago. i'd thought it was a case of brainless labor for the absurd fee they're charging me. if it had been anything else i would have screamed bloody extortion.

for all the trouble i went through, and beyond all possible logic, the teller told me they couldn't do it because... the date on the letter of authorization was not recent enough and i would need to get another one with a more recent date couriered to me from my dad. my hypothalamus almost shat itself because it didn't know what emotions to process. should i cry, laugh or appear enraged? it's like that time when your school discipline master caught you and your friends secretly laughing at his good looks and gave you corrective service for a shirt tail that stuck out at the back. there's not a feeling that could describe it but a tad retarded actually.

so, to my favourite bank: here's my favourite finger as a token of appreciation



+listening to: ain't life grand by slash's snakepit