So I went to the bank...
I went to the bank to pay in the cheque the insurance company had finally sent me in compensation for my written-off car. Getting that money has been a long and drawn-out process involving many phone calls of the "what's going on?" variety. I do hope I get the chance to score this company on their customer service at some point down the line because I'll happily rip them a new one. They were constantly telling me "you'll get a call tomorrow" but no call was ever forthcoming. After chasing them for a week to find out when the car was going to be valued ("mañana") I finally got someone to tell me, last Thursday, that the valuation would be in by the "end of the day".
"So you'll call me either this afternoon or tomorrow morning to tell me how much you'll be offering me?"
"No. We'll be calling you next Tuesday."
"TUESDAY? Why TUESDAY!?"
"Because that's when it's been diarised by the computer."
"OK, what if I call you back in the morning?"
"Oh, if you call us, we'll be able to tell you then. But if you don't call us, expect a call on Tuesday."
Unsurprisingly, then, I was ready for a fight when I actually got the quote. Yet it turned out to be more than I'd expected. They actually offered me the old car's market value (minus my excess), which, coincidentally, was exactly what I'd paid for my new car. I snapped their hands off because I was sick of dealing with them. Which was probably their plan all along.
Anyway, I went to the bank with my cheque. The bank is just across the road from the university where I have my teacher training lessons. Not the college where I do my placement... which is proving an eye-opening experience, I can tell you. If you ever want to feel old... talk to a class of young adults. Last week, the subject of Princess Diana's funeral came up. "What do you remember about that?" I asked them. "We don't," they replied. It was only at this point that I did a rough calculation and worked out... most of them weren't even born.
But I told the producer I wouldn't digress so much in telling this story, so let's get back to the bank where I took my insurance cheque. There's one woman in front of me in the queue and as she approaches the counter to make a payment of her own, she's pounced upon by an overzealous bank employee who wants to talk to her about her account.
"If you could just spare me a few moments, I think I can get you on a much better account."
"Well, I can't really... I've only ten minutes left on the parking meter."
"It won't take any longer than that."
She squirmed, made more excuses, but the vulture wouldn't let her alone. Finally she relented and agreed to follow him back to his desk for the hard sell. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least while he was tied up with her, I could make my payment and escape before he had chance to get his claws into me. And so I did...
I arrived at the university about ten minutes early for my lesson, so I joined a group of my fellow trainees in the coffee shop. I sat down for a chat and Americano... and that's when my phone started ringing. "I better turn that off before the lesson," I thought, but even though I didn't recognise the caller's number, I took the chance of answering it.
"Mr. Hirst? This is Bob Vulture from the bank? You were here a few minutes ago to pay in a cheque?"
"Erm... yes... is there a problem?"
"Oh, no problem with your cheque, Mr. Hirst. That's gone in fine. No, it's just that I noticed the current account you were using is quite an old one..."
(I didn't even pay the cheque into my current account - I paid it into my savings account. He had no reason to even look at my current account.)
"I wondered, if you were still nearby, if you wouldn't mind popping back in to see if I can't help you onto a better account for..."
I won't bore you with the rest, but yes, you guessed it, the "better account" was going to end up costing me more money... and yes, he rather lost interest in "helping me" once he discovered I was currently unemployed.
Here's an appropriate song in lieu of a punchline...
