Sorry about the headline, but it's been a hectic day, we watched Carry on Cleo on DVD last night, and I've just spent a couple of hours in the courtyard in the sun, with a bottle of cava for company. Now, where was I? Oh yes - the bank.
I avoid going into my bank if at all possible, Priscilla behind the counter is lovely, and she listens patiently while I practice my Spanish, but there's something wrong somewhere. Whenever I visit the bank, I can write off at least half an hour. Call me paranoid, but I think there must be a sensor in the door that sends a signal along the lines of 'Sandra's here - let's see how long we can keep her waiting today.'
The last time I went in to cancel a direct debit, there was only one person in front of me. Great - just a few minutes and I'd be on my way. How wrong can you be? The lady in front of me was 94 - I know that, because she told Priscilla so at least four times, along with the rest of her history in Spain. As it stretched back 35 years, that took some time. Then she started on the reasons she needed to move her bank account from Sabadell to Santander. They were many and varied, and bore repeating at least twice.
Finally, she got to the point. How easy would it be to move her money from six doors along the street? Priscilla assured her it would be very easy, but that wasn't enough for our Little Old Lady. We had to have chapter and verse twice, to make sure it was all crystal clear. By now I'd lost the will to live, but thankfully, LOL needed time to think about it. 37 minutes after entering the bank, it was finally my turn to step over the line labelled 'Espere su turno, por favor.'
Today, I had to brave the bank again, to make sure that the incompetent insurance company whose direct debit had been cancelled hadn't tried to claim it with a new reference number. Again, there was only one person in front of me, and my heart sang silently with joy when I heard him say, 'I just want to pay this bill for 3.37 Euro, please.' Maybe this time it would just be a quick visit, because I was getting a bit bothered that the bank would notice how much time I was spending in there and try to charge me rent.
Alas, it was not to be. When Priscilla processed the payment, the computer made funny noises, resulting in an exchange between Priscilla and Jose, who until today had never been seen to stand up from his swivel chair in the far left hand corner of the bank. In fact, some of us regulars wondered whether he actually had the use of his legs, but today we found out that he was indeed blessed with the gift of mobility. After 17 minutes of increasingly agitated dialogue, he stood up and walked behind the counter to press a few of Priscilla's buttons.
The printer sprang into life, and it transpired that the hapless gent who'd just called in to pay 3.37 Euro had to sign 3 copies of something, which then had to be faxed to head office. By now, there were about 10 of us in the queue, all itching to know what he'd done to make the computer go ballistic, and bring Jose to his feet for the first time in 5 years, as far as anyone knew.
Of course, we didn't find out. Priscilla was her usual helpful and apologetic self, and I left the bank 46 minutes after walking through its doors. So, help me out here. Does anyone else have this problem, or has my bank really got it in for me?
