Blissful irritation and incompetance

setting: FNB, Shelly Beach.

Am wanting to transfer alot of money into an Australian account. Branch manager is walking around aimlessly. Been here for over twenty minutes, a sign says I can call the manager after ten. I do so:

“Excuse me, I would like to do and international transfer, please” says I.

“We dorrrnt dooo dose tings heeya” says he.

“There is a sign right over there, look, that says – ‘INTERNATIONAL TRANSFERS’- now please may you help me” says I.

“Eish. I dunt knor how so you mus gow to anudda bank please” says him.

“How can you advertise something if you can’t fucking deliver it? Let me speak to someone who can help me.” says I.

“I am that person and I am telling you I can’t help you, gow to anudda bank branch please, ma’am” says he.

“Don’t fucking call me Ma’am, I am twenty years your junior, dammit’. says I, while storming out the bank.

I got back to the office, called FNB National and laid a complaint. Within ten minutes I have a formal apology, a request to sign an Indemnity form and handle everything over the phone.

setting: my airy and airconditioned office. I am sipping on a lowfat cuppacino while waiting for confirmation of transaction.

Bliss.