Of course, by that point, I will have died in abject poverty, and the noble pound sterling will have been replaced by that wonderful representative of utopia gone wrong, the Euro.
Banks seem to deride a masochistic amount of pleasure charging extortionate fees for the most trivial of mistakes, and yet realistically, all they do is profit from the profit of others.
This morning (a sleepy Sunday may I add), I was rudely awoken by "James" calling from the Halifax to inform me that I had exceeded my credit card spending limit, and that he was terribly sorry to inconvenience me, but I would be being charged twenty four pounds for the courtesy of his calling.
Now, normally this would have irked me somewhat, and I would have done the natural British thing and apologised profusely, dealing with the matter at the closest possible time. Unfortunately for "James", however, I had already dealt with the problem with another jolly representative from ten thousand miles away, and then again on Friday with yet another overly-chummy Halifax employee based somewhere in Mumbai.
Call me cynical, but surely all of these long distance calls, and indeed a calibre of workforce able to actually make a simple note stating that the balance would be settled via my next scheduled payment would negate the need for extortionate bank fees? One phone call from a centre just down the road, with a representative qualified enough to simply unclick the "keep calling this poor sap halfway across the world" box would save our dear British bank a heck of a lot of money.
Add to this the rage of being awoken from a peaceful slumber by inane mandatory security questions first thing on a Sunday morning, and quite frankly you should be sorry for the bloody inconvenience. And you should be grateful for my twenty years of custom thankyouverymuch "James". So you can stuff your fees up your jacksy, elswise I'll be spending this month's paycheck on burlap sacks and shovels.
Douchebags.
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