Banks
Your Ginger Fuhrer froths, "I hate my bank. Not because of debt or anything but because I hate being sold to - possibly pathologically so - and everytime I speak to them they try and sell me services. Gold cards, isas, insurance, you know the crap. It drives me insane. I ALREADY BANK WITH YOU. STOP IT. YOU MAKE ME FRIGHTED TO DO MY NORMAL BANKING. I'm angry even thinking about them."
So, tell us your banking stories of woe.
No doubt at least one of you has shagged in the vault, shat on a counter or thrown up in a cash machine. Or something
( , Thu 16 Jul 2009, 13:15)
Your Ginger Fuhrer froths, "I hate my bank. Not because of debt or anything but because I hate being sold to - possibly pathologically so - and everytime I speak to them they try and sell me services. Gold cards, isas, insurance, you know the crap. It drives me insane. I ALREADY BANK WITH YOU. STOP IT. YOU MAKE ME FRIGHTED TO DO MY NORMAL BANKING. I'm angry even thinking about them."
So, tell us your banking stories of woe.
No doubt at least one of you has shagged in the vault, shat on a counter or thrown up in a cash machine. Or something
( , Thu 16 Jul 2009, 13:15)
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Drunken, stoned, moronic student layabout...
It was a Friday, I surface bleary eyed out of my room at 11am to already find one of my flatmates stoned out of his tree. ‘That’s the day for me’ I thought, and lectures for the day are instantly forgotten, as I settle in to join him in watching a show about rich American High School students starring Luke Perry and Tori Spelling (you know the one, don’t make me admit to it in full).
A few hours later we’re in a beer garden and my pockets are empty so I stagger off to the nearest cash point to fund the remainder of the day.
I enter my PIN. Incorrect.
I enter it again. Incorrect.
I enter it again. Incorrect. Card retained.
Fuck this, thinks I. I know there is money in there, so what is going on? And I march into the branch determined to get some money, furious that their incompetence has me in serious danger of sobering up. I queue, still furious and I eventually get to the counter to have it politely explained to me that it is very obvious that I incorrectly entered my PIN.
Now, I am having none of this, I'd had the account five years, I knew the PIN, I knew there was money in the account, so I knew I was right and the snotty little shit was wrong. And I told him so. But he was adamant.
Now, monumentally peeved, and not 100% compos mentis, I took it upon myself to prove to the arrogant bastard that I knew my PIN and I damn well wanted my money. So I grabbed a pen and paper and scrawled it down before shoving it across the counter.
I will give the man his credit, he didn't bat an eyelid as he slid the paper back across to me and said very calmly
'Sir, this can't be your PIN, you see a PIN only has four digits. May I also take it upon myself to suggest that maybe you watch too much bad telly'?
And I looked at the piece of paper, where I had very clearly written:
'90210'
I don't think I even had the decency to apologise before I ran out of the door, I was so embarrassed.
( , Mon 20 Jul 2009, 17:14, 4 replies)
It was a Friday, I surface bleary eyed out of my room at 11am to already find one of my flatmates stoned out of his tree. ‘That’s the day for me’ I thought, and lectures for the day are instantly forgotten, as I settle in to join him in watching a show about rich American High School students starring Luke Perry and Tori Spelling (you know the one, don’t make me admit to it in full).
A few hours later we’re in a beer garden and my pockets are empty so I stagger off to the nearest cash point to fund the remainder of the day.
I enter my PIN. Incorrect.
I enter it again. Incorrect.
I enter it again. Incorrect. Card retained.
Fuck this, thinks I. I know there is money in there, so what is going on? And I march into the branch determined to get some money, furious that their incompetence has me in serious danger of sobering up. I queue, still furious and I eventually get to the counter to have it politely explained to me that it is very obvious that I incorrectly entered my PIN.
Now, I am having none of this, I'd had the account five years, I knew the PIN, I knew there was money in the account, so I knew I was right and the snotty little shit was wrong. And I told him so. But he was adamant.
Now, monumentally peeved, and not 100% compos mentis, I took it upon myself to prove to the arrogant bastard that I knew my PIN and I damn well wanted my money. So I grabbed a pen and paper and scrawled it down before shoving it across the counter.
I will give the man his credit, he didn't bat an eyelid as he slid the paper back across to me and said very calmly
'Sir, this can't be your PIN, you see a PIN only has four digits. May I also take it upon myself to suggest that maybe you watch too much bad telly'?
And I looked at the piece of paper, where I had very clearly written:
'90210'
I don't think I even had the decency to apologise before I ran out of the door, I was so embarrassed.
( , Mon 20 Jul 2009, 17:14, 4 replies)
Only 4?
That's different! My bank (ANZ - Australian And New Zealand) make you have a PIN between 5-8 numbers long.
But you get a click because you made me chuckle.
( , Tue 21 Jul 2009, 8:23, closed)
That's different! My bank (ANZ - Australian And New Zealand) make you have a PIN between 5-8 numbers long.
But you get a click because you made me chuckle.
( , Tue 21 Jul 2009, 8:23, closed)
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