Sign of the Times

I suppose, by now, we, who’ve been staggering around like extras in some zombie apocalypse film, have become a bit desensitized; have slightly adapted to our pandemic redefined world. Nonetheless, I really did get spooked out just last week. I wouldn’t even be blogging about this, now, were it not for my still being unable to shake that weird feeling.

I mean, this STILL is Earth. Yes? No? Maybe?

Setting the drama aside, IT all began when I needed to transact some mundane biz at the very same bank I’ve been frequenting since I was a four-year-young lad. Hey, what can I say? My impoverished, public school teacher folks’ lesson plans included instructing me to be thrifty.

Hell, even banks, of that bygone era, had encouraged that DIY, build a nest egg ethic, too, by paying out 4% interest on our savings accounts.

Granted, thru the ages, “my” bank has undergone numerous ownership changes as well several minor physical renovations, but, to me, I’m still seeing that same old brick and mortar institution thru my mind’s eye. In a sense, it feels as if I’m traveling back to that far more pleasant era; experiencing, anew, the flood of fond memories; e.g. the facial recognition; the personable bank personnel greeting me, by name (and vice versa), each time I set foot inside.

Of course, these days, there’s not much setting foot inside, anymore.

After all, even while masked / socially distanced, face to face, indoor transactions still (potentially) expose everyone to COVID-19. Beyond that, I’m sure that management doesn’t want customers spooking out their tellers; i.e. now that our being masked makes the same “fashion statement” that the bank robbers do.

Hmm, seeing how I’ve now digressed a bit too much, let’s time travel back to last week, again. Upon my arrival at the bank drive-thru destination, there IT was. The Sign. The Sign of the Times:

IT had been taped over the pneumatic tube system’s access port. IT read: “This branch office is temporarily closed.” They neither elaborated THE WHY this had happened nor THE HOW they were defining “temporarily”.

I actually began to worry. What would happen if “temporarily” actually meant forever AND my modest DIY nest egg had suddenly vanished, POOF, into thin air? Got gobbled up by some zombies?

Be it intentional or not, that sign’s evasiveness, did erode consumer confidence. It had been ill-timed, too, considering how, pandemic or not, retailers / e-tailers always depend on the holiday gift giving season to make their fourth quarter merry and bright.

More to the point, when our funds cease to be available on demand, even “temporarily”, this could compound the problem; i.e. result in a run on the banks.

At the very least, this episode certainly got me out of the shopping mood. From the drive thru exit I just drove home. And, for a fleeting moment, it felt as if the zombie apocalypse was starting to spill out from the big screen and into the real world.

Epilogue: Fortunately, this past Monday, my bank’s drive-thru lane reopened; finally allowing me to complete last week’s transaction.

As for the zombies? For the moment, they’ve been driven off.

For the moment.

Stay Publicly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!


The Disagreeable Greeting Card


I just received my bank’s annual “Greeting Card”… a.k.a. a multiple paged print-out of their amendments to “my” credit card “agreement”. Oh, btw, I’ve positioned quotation marks around both “my” and “agreement” because… be they original or amended… [1] I’ve had no say in any of these stipulations AND [2] no one has any right to disagree… unless, of course, they don’t want to have a credit card at all.

But this does not mean I cannot recommend a summarizing, cut through all the crapola blurb, which would never need any revisions. How tree / time saving and honest the following abridgement to their terms would be…

We, the undisciplined, unprincipled, unforgiving, usurers of the world reserve the right to… on a whim… bankrupt you into homelessness and hopelessness with our sky high interest rates, penalties and fees. We will always have the final word and last laugh and… Ha! Ha! Ha!… there’s not one damned thing you can do about it… Ha! Ha! Ha!

As for their privacy statement… why do they even bother issuing one. If they truly respected our privacy they would do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING with our personal information without our prior, written and signed consent.