Posts Tagged ‘banking’

I come from a long line of procrastinators.  My dad, for example, still hasn’t started socking away money for my college education.  This would piss me off if it weren’t for the fact that I quit college anyway to pursue creative endeavors (and also cus I ran out of money), which have proved to be much more interesting than social sciences or whatever fake career I might have gotten.


This leads me to my next point – Senior citizens.  Who the heck do these people think they are?  I’m on the phone with a lady today and she wants me to do a money transfer for her.  The conversation is as follows:


Me:  Ok, I can transfer $100 from your savings to your checking, and that will be a $3 fee.


Her: Well it shouldn’t.


Me:  What?


Her:  It shouldn’t charge a fee.


Me:  Why is that?


Her:  Because I’m a Senior Citizen.


Me: Um. 


Her:  I have a loan with you guys too.


Me:  Ok.  Neither of those things make a difference.  There’s still a fee.


This isn’t Old Country Buffet.   old-country-buffet


So, how old do you have to be before you start assuming that everything is just free? 




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The fact that my everyday life [from the hours of 8-4:30] is a mirror image of The Office is beside the point.   Last Monday, I arrive at work to find myself in the middle of Customer Service Appreciation week, which was kicked off by my boss wearing a Hawaiian shirt while cooking us breakfast (except he didn’t accidentally grill his foot in a George Foreman).  I’m a part of the “fun committee” or in Office terms the “party planning committee.”   My manager really pushed to have “Cowboy day” because he had a cowboy shirt that he wanted to wear.  We told him nobody had anything cowboy-ish, but he could wear it anyway.  He didn’t. Wednesday was hat day, and at the end of the day everyone who was wearing a hat had to line up against the wall and have our picture taken for our department homepage.  Every time we were supposed to smile, I held up my name plate in front of my face and no one ever noticed.   More on that later.


I have this next conversation about seventeen times a day, and it raises some major concerns in my mind about what century we are living in:


Me:  Thank you for calling _____, how may I help you?

Her:  Account balance.

Me:  OK. your name please?

Her:  Smith.

Me:  and your NAME please?

Her:  OH….. Jane.

Me:  Thank you.  The last four of your social?

Her:  My husband’s is 5432.

Me: sigh.  And the last four of YOUR social?

Her: oh, MINE…. Hmm… let me think.

Me: sigh.

Her:  Well, it’s probably under my husband’s.

Me:  You are the one calling.  The fact that you can tell me your husband’s information does not help me verify that I’m talking to you.  I need YOUR SOCIAL #$%#^%#!!!

Her: Um, ok, it’s um, 7654 I think.

Me:  thank you.



And all of this time, I thought it was no longer 1820, and women were actually considered people.  But every time I think I understand something…  someone has to go and prove me wrong.


On Hippie Day,  I went as an anti-hippie and wore this shirt:



 If you’re interested in getting your own, or other tasty, tasty shirts visit www.thoseshirts.com

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 [I work with a girl that I’ve know since birth.  As I was warming up my lunch today, she was eating macaroni and cheese, and I happened to ask how her brother was doing.   This is the exact conversation that took place.  I wish I were creative enough to make this up, but I am not.]


me: so how’s your brother these days?  haven’t seen him in forever.
friend: he’s good. i don’t know what he’s going to do though, he just got fired.
me: from the tombstone-selling job?
friend: no, from his gas station job.
me:  he had a gas station job? 
friend: yea, so, i don’t know.  he is still working toward his degree in psychology.
me: psychology?  oh wow.  i never knew that… i always thought he would be
friend: a white rapper?  yea, me too.
me:  oh man, i was so worried about him a couple years ago, I thought he was never going
to get through that ghetto phase.
friend:  he didn’t.

me: oh noooooo.  thats terrible.  so he still wears the clothes, and says all kinds of words that make no sense?
friend: um, yes. 
me:  i remember going on his myspace and seeing all these references to “shorty.”  I was like, whats up with the rapper slang?
friend: yea, that’s our grandma.  
me: oh.  and he had all these R.I.P messages
to people?
friend: seriously, he really needs to chill out.  if anyone who dies within 5 degrees of him he thinks he gets a RIP tatoo.
me: yea, for awhile there i felt bad for him cus i thought all his friends were dying.
friend:  i’m like, “you don’t have to get tatoos of everyone listed in our church bulletin who died.” 
me: aaaaaaah hahahah.  oh man…
friend: his myspace headline says, “i hate white people.”
me: but he’s white?
friend:  i told him my shirt was black the other day and he called me a racist.  when we went to Cancun, the only book he would read was 101 important facts about African American history.
me:  he wants to be a counselor?  but he’s so messed up?
friend:  i know
me:  well maybe, he’ll psychoanalyze himself.
friend: thats what i keep hoping.

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Every morning, my alarm goes off at 6:30.  I know in the depths of my soul that I have no intention of actually getting up at this ungodly hour, but still it is set.  My actual intention is to press the snooze until 6:45, but I also fail at that because I do not want to be continually disturbed by the most annoying sound in the world.  So I rely on my internal alarm clock to wake me up at the correct hour.  Now, generally, this works. 

Unfortunately, as of late, my internal body alarm is set at 7:05.  When this alarm sounds, I roll over, grab my remote, and turn on the TV.  In my my mind, I am hoping that I will hear something so interesting that I will be forced to get up and check it out…but unfortunately, I am no longer startled by the fact that there is an election going on, nor the fact that Geraldo Rivera is in reporting live from the eye of a new hurricane every three days. This puts me in a bit of a precarious situation as I am left with approximately 40 minutes to take a shower, dry and straighten my very long hair (which could take an hour in itself), eat, make a lunch, get dressed, and leave my house by 7:45. This may seem an impossible feat, and you would be correct in assuming that is why it never gets done.

Needless to say, I usually end up rolling out of bed, rocking the pony tail, eating some Eggos, busting last night’s leftovers, and almost committing involuntary manslaughter on anyone who comes close to me on the road.

I must admit I had a bit of a chipper attitude as I rode the rickety elevator up to the fifth floor this morning, of course, the only reason being it’s friday.  However, as soon as I sat down to my computer and took my first call of the day, everything changed.  When I asked the first gentleman I spoke to today if he could identify his password, he replied, “Neil Diamond.”


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A Bankers Life: Too Much Information

I had a dream – well, I should say nightmare – that I’d abandoned you all for a few days… no hellos, no comments, no posts…  it was so desolate that one could see tumbleweeds blowing across the computer monitor.  Suddenly, I awoke to find that my dream was in fact, a reality! 

I have no excuses in my back pocket as to why I’ve been absent this week.  Except for the fact that I’ve been writing like a slave and was asked by the Editor to fill in for someone who was gone last night and couldn’t do their full show recap… and also tonight (on top of the live feeds I already have to recap).  Therefore, in about 20 minutes I’ll be watching the Finale of Celebrity Circus (to which my response was “what the H is that?”) and then writing a blog about it… since today is the first time I’ve even heard of the show.  We’ll see how that goes.

As time is of the effervescent essence, I will leave you with a short conversation I had today with a very elderly lady.  elderly, mind you.

lady: “hi.  I had you cancel my debit card a couple days ago.  Can you turn it back on?”

me: “no, once it’s cancelled, it’s cancelled.  Sorry.”

lady: “oh, really?  thats too bad, cus I found it.”

me: “oh, yea.  that is too bad.”

lady: “well i feel so silly.  you’ll never believe what happened.  i just can’t believe it.”

me: “oh.”


lady: “you know how when you’re at the bar you put your credit card in your boob?  well, when i got my receipt, i wrapped it around my card and put it in there.  i never saw it since.  but then the other day, the guy came out to change my LifeLine box [for really old people, in case they die or fall and break a hip] and he found it lying behind my dresser!  now isn’t that somethin?”

me:  [lifeline?  you have a Lifeline box and you were going to the bar and wrapping receipts around your boob?]  “huh. that is something.” 

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As previously stated –or not, unlike politicians or car salesmen, I try not to make any big promises.  So when I say this blog is mostly about relationships, clearly, I mean that its about 50% relationships, 50% random crap.    So in regards to the 50% random crap… insert topic [  work  ].

Being a banker provides me with endless entertainment and comic relief.  This whole stimulus check thing has increased the amount of entertainment I enjoy on any given day.  I will now share two recent examples with the whole class:

1.  Having people with emails such as: Too_good_4yoAss or FineLeGz34  or DontYOUwish calling three  OR four times a day asking:


 FineLeGz: “Um, yeeeaaaaa, I just need to know, did Bush put that money in my account yet?” 

 Me: siiiiiiiigh.  Pause.  “account number?”


 ..And I can tell they feel partly ashamed that they’re asking me since they’ve called last 24 days in a row.  And they know that I know their voice.  So the next time they call they try to modify it so I won’t catch on.  But don’t worry, I make sure they know I’m on to them.  Some attempts at modifications have included: 


A.) Too_Good: “yea, I was wondering if  you could check the past couple weeks and see if I got any deposits- say around 300 or 600 dollars?” 


Me: “oh, ok. so you’re checking on your stimulus payment?


B.) FineLeGz:  “I’m expecting a direct deposit to my account, can you tell me did I get anything in?” 

Me: “oh, for your payroll?” 

FineLeGz: “no i think it should be from the government or something.” 

Me: “oh, for social security?”

FineLeGz:  “no, i think there should be some kind a refund in there or something.”

Me: “oh, ok. So you’re checking on your stimulus payment?”

FineLeGz: “yea i guess.  whatever that is.”  (acting like its no big deal)


C.) DontYOUwish: “yea I  just need you to see if i got my stimulation yet?  i was trying to use the ultimatum (intending to say “automated” as in the telephone banking system) and it wasn’t letting me through.”


Me: [thinking, but not saying: “maam, i don’t want to discuss your sex life.” 



2. My second favorite kind of call is from the elderly white ladies who call the first day of EVERY month to make sure their social security was deposited in their account- and even though it is the EXACT same amount every month, they still ask how much it was.  Their conversations usually start like this:


Elderly lady: (no hello, no introduction) “I just want to say that I’m in America, I should not have to press 1 for English, you know.” 


Me: pause.  sure.  Account number?” 


Elderly lady: (hoping that they can irritate me enough so that they can strike up an argument) “well I’m just saying, I shouldn’t have to press 1, this is an English speaking country, you know?” 


Me: “yes. Yes, I know we’re in America.  Account number?”


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