Ricky Gervais Vs Natwest.
This bank teller in Brixton really pissed me off today. I felt like giving her a 100 paper cuts with the bloody cheque she wouldn't cash for me. What really grinds me is the fact that I had gone into the bank 2 weeks earlier and done the exact same thing. She didn't like to be told this fact. She started to get quite shitty with me, as they tend to do being protected by glass. I'm wondering if the vacant pram next to me would be strong enough to smash the glass and lunge at her with a paper cut assault. She was probably pissed off about me telling her about her job, but I think the main reason bank tellers get so irate so quickly is because they can't seem to count. Surely not you say. Trust me, I think bank tellers can't count nothing. To prove my point do this. Go into any bank and join the massive queue to get served. Hmmm you think this is going to take a good ten minutes. Why is that you ask?
Because there is ONLY 3 FUCKING TELLERS ON WITH 6 AVAILABLE BOOTHS. The stupid tellers are getting irate because on average people are waiting to be served for a lifetime. You usually have better things to do than stand around waiting for some pleb to push some buttons and take your money, or whatever.
What makes is worse is the the tellers get up out of thier chair and fuck off with some bit of paper out the back, to have a fag, cup of tea or chat about Eastenders or some other worthless topic. It's the safety of the glass panels that makes them so smug. See how smug they look when we, the great unwashed send glass flying everywhere with a barrage of empty prams. Just look at thier faces when single mums, workers, pensioners jump the counter, not to steal anything mind, but to just give the tellers a nice slap, tell them to put more staff on when it's busy, and not to be so condescending to the public, because if we didn't have to use the stupid bank, they wouldn't have their stupid job.
I ended up storming out the bank, shooting "fuck you" looks at the Natwest hydra behind the glass and bolted to the tube for my assignment.
One hour later.
I'm expecting Ricky Gervais to walk round the corner and give me a motivational introduction any second. My first freelance job of the year has landed me on the set of "The Office". It's surreal. I can't keep my eyes off a huge sweaty guy with nhs glasses, a bald patch ala Phil Collins with a little greasy ponytail. In a suit no less which is spilling out over his 15 pints of ale a day belly. Riveting stuff.
The guy I'm supposed to be working for is in a meeting and running late, which is par for the course in the industry I work in. Suits me fine. I can wait all day if the meter's running. The big drawback is where this assignment is. It's in Cockfosters. For the benefit of international readers, that's about an hour on a tube from the "urban safety" of Brixton. It's where livestock roam the streets, people drive combine harvesters and from looking around this office it looks like there's a few flocks of sheep grazing in several cubicles. Though the assignment I'm gonna get isn't gonna rock my world, and the people here seem somewhat normal in a suburban way, I'm kind of glad I got some money coming in at last.