DaddySatyr
Posts: 9381
Joined: 8/29/2011
From: Pittston, Pennsyltucky
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quote:
ORIGINAL: DesideriScuri
When I go to my bank, present my ID, and take money out of my account, the bank has no say in how I spend my money. It's my money. They are safeguarding my money and allowing me ease of access to it. That's all a bank is really for. They earn their money, not usually by directly charging for the safekeeping and access services, but by loaning those funds out to others for a higher interest rate than they offer to savers. A bank isn't there to make sure I'm spending my money wisely. A bank isn't there to inform the police that I have a family member or friend that is being held ransom. They exist to give me a relatively safe place to store my money, and to give me an easy way to access it (checks, debit card, etc.).
It's my money. Even when it's deposited in their bank, it's still my money. Even when it's the basis for fractional reserve lending, it's still my money. I can go to the bank, when they are open, and take it all back, if I want. It's my money.
The trouble with this is; it's been going on forever.
Back in '82, I had an opportunity for an incredible purchase on a motorcycle. The owner wanted $1,200 (which was a steal. I should have been holding a gun). I had $2,400 in the bank and since I could easily afford the purchase, I was going for it.
I handed the owner of the bike five crisp twenty dollar bills (it was Saturday) and told him I'd be back on Monday.
I called out of work on Monday morning and headed for the bank. I filled out my withdrawal slip and stood in line. I got to the window and the first thing the cashier asked was: "What's the money for?"
I said: "I want my money"
Her: "yes but, what is it for?"
I grabbed the withdrawal slip and walked away. I took a number for platform service and waited.
I got to the desk and explained that the teller clearly had some major customer service issues and presented the withdrawal slip to the service representative.
Her: "What do you want the money for?"
Me: "Let me speak with a manager."
When the manager showed up, I told him that I wanted to close my account. he asked why and I told him what was going on.
He said: "What did you want the money for?"
Me (finally exhausted and a young wise-ass, anyway): "I need to pay for a front of some coke"
The manager hemmed and hawed and I went and used the payphone to call the local constabulary.
When the cop showed up, the manager was finally convinced to let me close my account but he still needed to be a wise-ass. he told me he'd get me a cashier's check.
I told him that I deposited cash, every week into that account for almost two years and I wanted cash out. He said that they didn't do that and went on to say that the bank was solvent and the CC was as good as cash, anywhere.
When he returned with the check, I asked him to cash it and he said: "Do you have an account, here, sir?"
The cop finally lost it and told the manager that if I didn't get my cash, quickly, there was going to be a problem.
It turns out that the bank was just trying to sell me a loan. They were being awful predatory about it.
The point is that this was 1982 and it was going on, then. I will even name 'n' shame the bank: City Federal Savings.
It's because of douche canoes like this that I always keep several thousand in cash available.
_____________________________
A Stone in My Shoe
Screen captures (and pissing on shadows) still RULE! Ya feel me?
"For that which I love, I will do horrible things"
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