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A long time ago, I belonged to a bank where the tellers were friendly and making a transaction was never difficult. Unfortunately, it was in a previous life when I lived in the old west and my name was "Cowboy Jack." It's hard to find a bank like that these days -- one that's right next door to the saloon where you can have a shot of whiskey and play a round of poker with some outlaws. Not even Wells Fargo has that, and you'd think it would go right along with their whole "western" theme.
As treasurer for the Inland Empire Regional Gathering this year, I've had the opportunity to do business with one of them, there, modern banks. Modern banks are so technologically advanced that they seem to be right out of a science fiction story. Many modern banks are built on top of black holes, which is where they put your money and important documents. The ATM's, that we so casually use, are actually sentient beings. They have moods and can do whatever they want. The one I use is fond of playing with my ATM card as if it were playing with its food. Sometimes it spits the card out, sometimes it swallows it whole. This particular machine is also fond of saying, "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that." Whatever that means. I called up the bank the other day and was fortunate enough to get to talk to a pod person. I needed an ATM card. First I had to convince the pod person who I was, but she did not believe me because I sounded too much like a humanoid life form and, as we all know, they are untrustworthy. "Ma'am" I said. "I mean Mrs. Pod... I need the card sent to my home address," which I then gave to her. "That's not the address we have on file," she said. "I just received checks for the account there." "Are you sure that's where you live?" she said. "I thought it was," I replied, "but I'm beginning to doubt it now. Maybe I moved and didn't tell myself." "That's happens to me all the time," said the pod person. "I'm sorry, we can't help you." That was the general gist of our conversation, although I may have taken some liberties with it. You'll be glad to know that the story has a happy ending. I was able to travel back in time to the moment when I first called the bank. I showed up at the bank and confirmed with them that it was actually me who was calling. I think it was the picture ID that convinced them. Anyway, I finally received the card and was able to successfully use it at the teller machine after, of course, agreeing to play a game of chess with it. Then I untied my horse and rode off into the sunset, the sound of my spurs jingling in the wind. Actually, it wasn't really my spurs; it was some change I had in my pocket, but you get the idea. |
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