Half A Glass
Yesterday I decided
that it was finally time to make my first withdraw from my new bank
account. I know, simply a thrilling idea to write about, right?
The account in question is with a financial institution much like ING. Upswing to a bank like this is high interest rates and low fees; down swing no actual branches available when there is a problem. It has taken a good three weeks to get just an atm card in the mail. Luckily I had an excess of cash available, but it was starting to get to where I needed to withdraw a little of my cash. So off I go to the post office, because apparently this is where I get to do actual cash withdraws for this account.
“Pin error, eh? Let me try that again … pin error … no you better give me the card.”
I give Pops a ring to see if he knows how to fix the problem, or if I am forgetting to do something that every Australian would know, but that a Canadian boy might not. He tells me to go into this office that is affiliated with the bank and they should be able to help me. I hop a bus and 15 minutes later I am downtown talking to a receptionist at this office, explaining my problems. I was as polite as I could be with her, as I had often been in her situation with a customer with a real problem, and I knew I was way more likely to help the person who kept calm and didn’t try and put the blame on me. She makes a few phone calls and apparently the wrong pin had been sent out to me, and that she was very sorry for the mix up. They can send me a pin out in the mail, and it should get to me in the next few days. I need cash today … a few days is the best that can be done. Great.
Okay, I have a few bills left to me so I decide to go to a Hyde park, grab a coffee, calm down and have a think I am sitting doing exactly that when two little dark haired girls walk up to me
“Excusa me … Could we please do an interview for you?”
One look at these girls, coupled with the broken English, and I know immediately.
“Han gul saram?”
I love when I see the eyes pop out like that. They were 2 Korean girls on a trip with their school. They asked me a bunch of questions and record everything with little Dictaphones. When they finished they bowed their awkward bows and ran off giggling and left me to my pondering again. That was nice.
Next I realize I need to go to the bathroom so I get up and make my way over to the subways station. On my way there I get waylaid by a girl soliciting for homeless youth in Australia. Usually I would just ignore this, but something stopped me, and a few seconds later I realized it was not what she was saying, but how she was saying it.
“Parle vous francais? … How did I know? … Your accent is a dead giveaway.”
So we chat about traveling and how long we had been here. She understood that I didn’t have a job and that I couldn’t really afford to help out the homeless kids in Australia at the moment, but wished me well all the same and off I went. Merci … Au revoir
I still had some coffee left over, which as I walk away I manage to spill on myself. So I head downstairs to wash my shirt in the subway bathroom, much like a homeless youth might very well do, and it hits me … my life is definitely half full. It isn’t a big surprise, but it is always nice to recognize it. If I didn’t have the banking problems, then I never would have been in the park to meet those girls and help them out. I never would have met the French girl and made her day a little bit brighter as well. Those smiles from random strangers in turn made me happy again, despite the fact that I had a few insignificant issues to deal with at the moment. So I finishing washing the stains out of my shirt, dry it under the hand dryer, collect myself and go hook up with my crowd for the night. We go out dancing and carousing and I stay out much too late. The money will work itself out soon enough, and I will be fine until then.
The account in question is with a financial institution much like ING. Upswing to a bank like this is high interest rates and low fees; down swing no actual branches available when there is a problem. It has taken a good three weeks to get just an atm card in the mail. Luckily I had an excess of cash available, but it was starting to get to where I needed to withdraw a little of my cash. So off I go to the post office, because apparently this is where I get to do actual cash withdraws for this account.
“Pin error, eh? Let me try that again … pin error … no you better give me the card.”
I give Pops a ring to see if he knows how to fix the problem, or if I am forgetting to do something that every Australian would know, but that a Canadian boy might not. He tells me to go into this office that is affiliated with the bank and they should be able to help me. I hop a bus and 15 minutes later I am downtown talking to a receptionist at this office, explaining my problems. I was as polite as I could be with her, as I had often been in her situation with a customer with a real problem, and I knew I was way more likely to help the person who kept calm and didn’t try and put the blame on me. She makes a few phone calls and apparently the wrong pin had been sent out to me, and that she was very sorry for the mix up. They can send me a pin out in the mail, and it should get to me in the next few days. I need cash today … a few days is the best that can be done. Great.
Okay, I have a few bills left to me so I decide to go to a Hyde park, grab a coffee, calm down and have a think I am sitting doing exactly that when two little dark haired girls walk up to me
“Excusa me … Could we please do an interview for you?”
One look at these girls, coupled with the broken English, and I know immediately.
“Han gul saram?”
I love when I see the eyes pop out like that. They were 2 Korean girls on a trip with their school. They asked me a bunch of questions and record everything with little Dictaphones. When they finished they bowed their awkward bows and ran off giggling and left me to my pondering again. That was nice.
Next I realize I need to go to the bathroom so I get up and make my way over to the subways station. On my way there I get waylaid by a girl soliciting for homeless youth in Australia. Usually I would just ignore this, but something stopped me, and a few seconds later I realized it was not what she was saying, but how she was saying it.
“Parle vous francais? … How did I know? … Your accent is a dead giveaway.”
So we chat about traveling and how long we had been here. She understood that I didn’t have a job and that I couldn’t really afford to help out the homeless kids in Australia at the moment, but wished me well all the same and off I went. Merci … Au revoir
I still had some coffee left over, which as I walk away I manage to spill on myself. So I head downstairs to wash my shirt in the subway bathroom, much like a homeless youth might very well do, and it hits me … my life is definitely half full. It isn’t a big surprise, but it is always nice to recognize it. If I didn’t have the banking problems, then I never would have been in the park to meet those girls and help them out. I never would have met the French girl and made her day a little bit brighter as well. Those smiles from random strangers in turn made me happy again, despite the fact that I had a few insignificant issues to deal with at the moment. So I finishing washing the stains out of my shirt, dry it under the hand dryer, collect myself and go hook up with my crowd for the night. We go out dancing and carousing and I stay out much too late. The money will work itself out soon enough, and I will be fine until then.