So, that's my bank stuff been lost again.
I've got nobody to blame but myself. Even when I was handing over all the forms et cetera, I got a very strong feeling that they were all going to get swallowed up in the Files of Oblivion, deep in the vaults of the bank at Govan Cross, and I still did it.
Anyway, I think about getting angry, cos this is the second time this has happened to me inside a year. Not to mention it's the done thing nowadays to get furious with the banks for the flamin mess we're all in. But, here I am. Just standing waiting, with a sort of smile on my face. Like, I knew this was gonny happen anyway, so, why should I get angry when I knew as I handed my forms over that they'd all get lost.
The bank teller's gone away on a hunt with a sort of half-hearted energy. I'm pretty sure he's the one I handed the form into and he's probably not bothered to process it and the application's lying in his drawer.
Anyway, I'm left standing at the glass for a while and I get to remembering the olden days, when there was just a wee bit of glass at the bottom with a hole to speak through. Is that right? Then they got in the full length glass from the ceiling to the countertop.
Wonder if there was a time when there was no glass between the money and the Govanite?
I'm still waiting.
Two lassies come in and one has got on a pair of pyjama bottoms for trousers. They are pink wth a darker pink vertical stripe and sparkly silver, metallic stars. They're loosely tied at the top with a white cotton string - like pyjamas. Well, they are pyjamas.
"Ah've lost ma pin," says she. "Ah can't remember it."
Number, I think she means.
It's quite interesting waiting here. Now I'm thinking of the bank in times past when Stella worked here. There was a guy who looked like Hen Broon and was a right sobersides. One day, he didn't come into work and it turned out he just stayed in bed. Put the covers over his head and stayed there for six months. Stella told us that.
Now a handsome young man comes to the teller and says, "Ah've been inside eighteen month and Ah've come out an' Ah've got charges on my account but Ah can't have cos Ah've been inside and what would Ah be charged for?"
The teller looks at his statement.
"Your card's been used and you've went into a overdraft."
(That's what he says, 'a' overdraft).
"But how can there be when Ah've no been buyin anything?" says the young ex-con.
The teller examines it further.
"Your card's been used here and here, on this date and that."
"It was just my ma that used it," says the boy. "I gave her permission."
"Well, you can't do that," says the teller, taking umbrage.
"How can Ah no'?" the young man retorts. "Ah wis inside and Ah told her she could."
"You can't. That's fraud. And anyway, she's went over your overdraft and that's how you've got charged."
Oh me. Here we go. It's going to get heated and just at that, my teller comes back to say that they have no record of having received my form and they don't have another in this branch but if I pop into any branch up the town, I can pick one up.
There's a lot to be said for keeping what money you have under the bed, in the back of the clock, in the biscuit tin.