They Will Take Your Soul.

Checking my statements last week, it was with great horror and an intense feeling of dread that I realised I would need to pay a visit to my local bank in the city. I had been having an enjoyable week up until that point, but the realisation of my imminent bank trip caused me to bury my head into the communal swimming pool for a few minutes, a decision which I immediately regretted as it had not been cleaned for several months, and left me with countless living organisms crawling inside my ears. Nevertheless, this act of folly merely confirmed the frustration I often feel at the thought of having to conduct business at this particular branch, which could quite easily be the worst in the country, if not the world. I have had the misfortune of visiting these guys on a few occasions now, and overall the experience has been as appealing as losing a limb, or in a best case scenario, having a large car drive over me slowly, and repeatedly.

For many of the employees at this city branch, the word “service” is much like a foreign swear word, something you enjoy throwing around with gay abandon at parties and social events, as it’s great and funny and people seem to enjoy hearing you say it. When pressed to provide an explanation to the turn of phrase however, it soon becomes apparent that you are not entirely sure of it’s actual meaning, and just happened to hear it being used by the foul-mouthed Spaniard who lives three doors down from you.

So it came to pass then that, after downing copious amounts of tranquilizers and chanting several “Hail Mary’s”, I found myself nervously shuffling inside the hallowed halls of the newly renovated bank. They had recently embarked on a major refurbishment, with swanky plasma television screens with satellight channels, expensive looking work stations with technologically advanced ergonomically friendly chairs, and an abundance of climate control features to make even the sweatiest of individuals feel comfortable in their own dermatologically-challenged skin.

Alas, it also became apparent that with the not-inexpensive renovations taking place, the bank was then forced to cut costs in other areas, namely the client service department, where human employees seem to have been replaced by uninspired and genetically modified garden slugs.

For it can surely only be a garden slug who, upon seeing me approaching his workstation, casually averts any eye contact, packs his things and then strolls off nonchalantly as I energetically try and grab his attention.

Quickly checking whether I had inadvertently put on my invisibility cloak that morning (I hadn’t), I waddled on over to another workstation, where a busy employee was reading Stephen Covey’s “Seven Habits of Highly Effective People“. Luckily for her, I did not end up interrupting too much of her reading time, as it was quickly revealed to me that I was in fact in the wrong section, and needed to speak to a consultant instead.

It’s in the consultant department where this branch really is a cut above the rest.

Two consultants were in attendance, with about eight of us waiting to be served. This usually wouldn’t seem like a long queue, until you realise that it takes at least 25 minutes per customer. This typically consists of five minutes chatting to the customer, followed by 20 minutes spent at one of the back offices, doing what they like to refer to as “admin”. I think it usually involves phone calls or faxing of documents, but it boils down to you sitting there all by yourself for several minutes, wondering if they are coming back or not, and how awkward it would be if they didn’t return at all, and you are left in that chair for the rest of the day. Now I’m usually a patient man – I have often stood in long queues waiting for the inept Ster Kinekor or Nu Metro staff to give me my popcorn – but there is something about waiting at this particular branch that really get’s my blood boiling. It’s not just the lack of urgency that causes annoyance, it’s the overwhelming sense of knowing that when you do eventually make it to the front, it’s more than likely that they will not be able to help you.

This was confirmed once I made it to the consultant who, upon hearing my query, asking me to repeat it, repeating what I had just repeated, and then saying it out loud once again, dialed a number and asked me to repeat my query to another consultant who then promised to follow things up with another consultant and look into the matter for me. This little tactic is known as the Merry-Go-Round, and is primarily designed to suck out the last bit of fight left in you.

So as expected, no one has called me back, and when I did manage to get hold of the earlier consultant I had spoken to, I was told that the person I really needed to speak to was off ill (of course they were) and would get back to me once they returned. Days have passed, and here I am, lying on the floor, drool coming out of my mouth, waiting in desperation for the call.

It seems they have won again then, as the thought of another round of back and forth phone calls and explanations leaves me feeling cold, anxious and ever so slightly constipated.

And like most people, I will gladly take defeat over constipation any day of the week.

Till next time then.

Oakes signing off.

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