Losing it, bank cards and the OAPS.
This happened a while ago: I needed to go to the ATM at lunchtime. As I am walking towards the town centre, looking for the one with the shortest queue, I see one that is totally available. I walk towards it, not really thinking and then I see an old man in a wheelchair and his equally old female companion with a walking stick heading directly at it. I’m aware that I start walking slightly faster, wanting to not get caught behind them in the queue. And in that second a dozen different scenarios pop into my head as I realise I am trying to race two octogenarian invalids in a way that is too pathetic for words. What if she falls over? What if she has a heart attack. What if he knocks her over with his wheel chair? What if I see my boss, as I am speedwalking next to a pair of white haired, liver spotted dead people walking? I forced myself to slow down, took a deep breath and tried accept that waiting two minutes while they sort themselves out and get their paltry state pension into their shaky arthritic hands is not going to destroy my day. I am not that impatient that it will put me in a bad mood, surely?

Well, yes, and no. But mainly yes.

7 minutes I waited as a long queue formed behind them. She couldn’t find open her handbag, then she couldn’t open her purse, then she couldn’t find her bankcard, then she couldn’t bend down to pick it up when she dropped it. At this point I kicked her walking stick away and stepped over her crying body and withdrew my money.

No, obviously not.

At that point I bent down and picked it up for her and very politely smiled as I put it in her hand and stepped back to give her space to get her money. While imagining kicking her walking stick away and stepping over her crying body to withdraw my money. And then the muttering began, whether to herself or to her wheelchair bound husband who she was unaware was out of earshot, having positioned himself so he could watch the waitresses at the Italian Café on the corner, I am not sure:

‘Insert card where?’
‘oh, it’s the wrong way up’
‘how do I get it back?’
‘ha…I pressed cancel’
‘How do I use this’
‘I can’t remember my number’
‘ooh’
‘What’s enter?’
‘Please? Number’
‘oh dear’

‘Four...two...’

And at that point I realised that if I didn’t stop her she was about to announce her PIN to the entire queue, including a couple of people that I wouldn’t trust with a safety pin, let alone a bank PIN.

I perhaps should have been gentler than just shouting ‘STOP!’ though. I thought she was going to drop dead from the fright.

I was only trying to help, I promise. I hope she’s recovered now. I was scared to watch the local news that night, just in case there is a ‘Pensioner Frightened To Death. Impatient Man Sought By Police’ story on it.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 22 Jul 2011, 16:24, 2 replies)

Nicely told
*click*
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Fri 22 Jul 2011, 16:50, closed)

What Sonora said...
...clicks.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Mon 25 Jul 2011, 5:01, closed)