When I went to the town today I requested £30 from the cash point at the supermarket. The screen gave me the dreaded message, the one that says:
We cannot process your request. Please contact your bank.
Since I know that my current account should have a hell of a lot more than £30 in it, the subsequent sequence of reactions and events ran thus:
1) Thinks: ‘Bloody technology!’
2) Thinks again: ‘Hang on a minute. Please contact your bank? Isn’t that a polite way of saying you have no money in your account? Shit!!!
3) Continues to think: ‘I’ll have to go home immediately and call the bank. There have been a number of incidents of skimming in Ashbourne recently. Looks like I might be the latest victim.’
4) Changes mind and decides to try another cash point first, since there’s a possibility I might have been right the first time.
5) Walks across town feeling sick – literally.
6) There’s a man using the machine at the next cash point, so I have to wait. Still feel sick.
7) Man goes. Insert card, type in PIN and amount, press Enter. Heart is beating a little faster than usual.
8) Card returned, money slips out, followed by a receipt showing the balance that’s supposed to be in there.
9) Lets out a strange noise indicating relief. Young woman standing next to me gives a strange look. Strange is on the menu today. Go to nearby store to buy a new bath towel as planned, and find them reduced to less than half price. Strangely positive upturn in fortune. Still feel a bit sick, which maybe isn’t so strange.
You know, there was a time when the reason for putting money in a bank was to keep it safe. Then we went and got technology, so now it isn’t safe any more. I’m considering drawing it all out and putting it under the freggin’ mattress like people used to do in saner times.