A
98 year old woman in the UK
wrote this to her bank. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it
published in the Times.
Dear
Sir,
I
am writing to thank you for bouncing my cheque with which I endeavoured to pay
my plumber last month. By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed
between his presenting the cheque and the arrival in my account of the funds
needed to honour it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit
of my Pension, an arrangement, which, I admit, has only been in place for
a mere thirty eight years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief
window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account £30 by way of penalty
for the inconvenience caused to your bank.
My
thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to
rethink my errant financial ways. I noticed that whereas I personally attend to
your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by
the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has
become. From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood
person.
My
mortgage and loan payments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic,
but will arrive at your bank by cheque, addressed personally and confidentially
to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. Be aware that it is an
offence under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope.
Please find attached an Application Contact Status which I require your chosen
employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in
order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there
is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history
must be countersigned by a Solicitor, and the mandatory details of his/her
financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied
by documented proof.
In
due course, I will issue your employee with PIN number which he/she must quote
in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but,
again, I have modelled it on the number of button presses required of me to
access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation
is the most sincere form of flattery.
Let
me level the playing field even further. When you call me, press buttons as
follows:
1.
To make an appointment to see me.
2.
To query a missing payment.
3.
To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
4.
To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping.
5.
To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
6.
To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
7.
To leave a message on my computer (a password to access my computer is
required. A password will be communicated to you at a later date for the
Authorized Contact.)
8.
To return to the main menu, and to listen to options 1 through to 8.
9.
To make a general complaint or inquiry, the contact will then be put on hold,
pending the attention of my automated answering service.
While
this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for
the duration of the call.
Regrettably,
but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to
cover the setting up of this new arrangement.
May
I wish you a happy, if ever so slightly less prosperous, New Year.
Your
Humble Client,
Myrtle
J Watson.
(Remember:
This was written by a 98 year old woman...................DOESN'T SHE MAKE YOU
PROUD!)
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