I have been dreading going to the bank. We have never done the most routine banking transactions, depositing and withdrawing. I know, this sounds rudimentary, but you try it when you don't speak the language.
I sit down at the help desk and ask the girl (yes she really was a girl. Don't get all politically correct on me, OK) for help and she says her first lie, "yes." A big fat lie!
Most of people I have dealt with at the bank are great, but not this girl. I think it was the hot pink lipstick on this shrimp the tipped me off that things were not going to go well.
I ask for a printed statement of both accounts. She says, "you must use the computer on line." I tell her they change the damn password at random and it doesn't work. She argues with me.
Finally, I tell I will pay her to do it. Okay. Then she asks if I am Yella. No. Now we go through Round Two. Back and forth...back and forth...finally, I pull out a big enough hammer and she relents and takes all of 15 seconds to get the reports.
Round Three.
I ask for help with the withdrawal and deposit forms. She points to the form table. By now, the fighting lines have been drawn.
I snip, "how the hell can I tell which one is which when I don't speak Spanish?" She responds with something I don't understand but I do understand...you get the picture. She begrudgingly helps me with one slip but won't budge with the other one.
A draw at best.
I stand in the counter line to try the actual transactions. A much nicer person, without hot pink lipstick I might add, helps and...
I did it! Victory! Hallelujah! Trumpets play, the heavens open up...
Not really, but that's what it felt like.
Like I said at the end of the last blog entry, the simplest of things mastered seems like such a major victory.
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