Poor Man About Town

I had only two quid left, I had to raid my personal poor box again - sifting the silver from the brown, I found 20 x 5p coins (20 shillings in old money) equals a pound - this got me another day's bus pass. Must get a monthly when I get paid. I still have two tins of ministrone soup in work, so I scrounged a couple of slices of bread to have the soup. Then I contacted the bank to attempt negotiate something that will not make me so impoverished towards the end of the month. After loads of padding around the key pads I got put through to the call centre in some exotic place where the call centre operatives earn about 1/8th of my salary but live the life of Posh Spice and David Beckham. I was given another phone number to ring which turned out to be a fob off (fuck off). Rung the bank again, exotic call centre with that Byzantine approach to dealing with customers. More waiting and more holding with incredibly trashy music which was really getting on my nerves. After about an hour, I was told I was told that I must go to my branch to renegotiate things!. Why the fuck did they not tell me that in the first place. My bank has made thousands out of me and other poor saps, I hope I win the lottery and then I'll show them. I hope my bank goes the way of Northern Rock - bastards.

Labels: banking, byzantine, Call Centres, poor, poverty