Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Banks a lot, you bankers

Organisation has never really been a part of my life. I am, by all definitions of the word, disorganised. I have good intentions, really; one day I will file my bank statements together in chronological order; one day I will take my rubbish out; one day I will iron a shirt instead of giving it two shakes before I put it on. One day I even hope to be early for something. Just once. But I’ll try not to get too far ahead of myself, I think baby steps are the way to go for now.

Due to this lack of organisation, sometimes I run out of money. And by sometimes, I mean fortnightly. It’s not that I lead an extravagant lifestyle – a lot of people would put an extra coat of gold on their salt and pepper shakers, but not me. I’m happy to sleep on a bed that’s stuffed with $50 notes and shower in Moet like regular people. I eat wagu beef stuffed with caviar and abalone and throw it away because I don’t like either caviar or abalone, and I buy a new Cray Supercomputer every time I close an application in Windows. So yes, I am living well below the poverty line to the point that a homeless bloke gave me a few bucks “to catch the bus” the other day. More fool him, I spent it on drugs. Not very good ones though; for $2, the guy I bought heroin from sold me an empty baggie.

Anyway, after a weekend that possibly involved a pint or two too many, I knew I was a smidge short in the old commerce area of my life. Since I’ve already got drunk and bought a guitar online and completely forgot about it until eBay sent me an email congratulating me on my winning bid (true story), I figured I was good for a couple more days of eating Prada handbags and burning Ferraris to keep warm. That’s until I checked my bank thingy on the intergoogleweb and discovered that I’d had a few direct debits slide their way out of my account while I was looking at this ant on my balcony:

Those sneaky bastards at the bank took all my money; so much so that they took more money than I had. That’s quite rude. It’s like a ‘no smoking’ sign on your cigarette break. It’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife. It’s. Just. Fucking. Rude.

Captain Bank took my cash until it was gone, then they took more, and THEN they slapped a fine on me for the pain and heartache I obviously caused them by not having any money. I have no idea how this ever became an option; there’s no money in the account, yet they’ve penalised me the sum of $45.

That’s like being involved in an organ transplant where you need to donate three kidneys. You can try as hard as you like to produce a third; hell, you can even offer your liver and spleen as consolation prizes, but it’s just not going to work. Stupid banks, they should stop trying to do organ transplants and stick to what they’re best at: not serving customers and giving people a queue to stand in during their lunch break.


April said...

I have $4.26 in my bank account, but am good til my next pay, so you are more than welcome to it Mister Evil. I also have a couple of crusts in my freezer and a few skerricks of peanut butter (Kraft mind you!) that you can help yourself to if that helps....

Anything for a friend in need!

Mister Evil Breakfast said...

Peanut butter? PEANUT BUTTER? April, you used to be cool until you offered me poison on toast. As poor and starving as I may be, suicide is just not an option. If I wanted to eat something that tasted like arse and got stuck in my throat, I'd... um... cut open my neck and wedge someone's bum in there. Peanut butter? To reiterate: you used to be cool.

April said...

My bad... it was the only thing in the pantry that was in a plastic jar, and I figured sending the vegemite which may end up smashed and with glass fragments through it may not be looked upon as such a good dead, although in hindsite probably slightly better than arse in your throat...

It's ok, I'm used to not being cool...it was good while it lasted.