Written by Auntie Matter
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Tags: Banks

Friday, 12 August 2016

image for Mick Flynn Confronts The New World 'Order' Mick, After Attempting To Make a Bank Deposit.

This story is not entirely made up. The encounter with the teller is based on fact.

A man goes into his bank in Donegal Ireland to deposit 1,000 euros, most of what he had earned that month. Here follows the conversation he had that fateful Monday morning with the girl teller.

As he reaches the window she studies his face for a few seconds, dismounts from her stool and seems to be searching for something under her desk. Back on her stool she reads the lodgment slip and begins to count the money.

"You're depositing this?"

"Yes, please. Dreadful weather we are having."

"Where did you get it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where did the money come from?"

"What...? Who empowered you lady.. to ask this question?"

"It's bank policy."

"Do you ask everybody this question?"

"Only those who deposit a thousand euros or more."

"Can I see the bank manager?"

"He's not here at the moment. Now, where did you get the money?"

The man thinks to himself. 'I should tell her to shove her bank but the next bank is in another town fifty miles away and I'd have to fill in forms to open an account there, wait a month to get accepted and probably have to give them a blood sample and write them into my will. I can't afford the time... or the petrol. Worse, my rent that is already overdue is paid by direct debit from here and my landlord is a demon from hell who never misses Sunday mass. The hypocrite makes the Russian Mafia look like a Franciscan choir.'

"Okay... it's my wages for the month."

"What do you work at?"

"I'm a road worker."

Teller... looking at her computer screen: "That's not what it says here".

"Well, that's an old statement. I used to work as an electrician but got laid off. They found an immigrant who could do my job for half the wages. I now work for the council."

"Live locally?"

"Yes."

"Married."

"Yes, three wonderful kids. They'r a handling, I can tell you, especially the older girl who..."

"Travel abroad much?"

"About twice a year... if we can afford it."

"You take the family with you?"

"Whatta fuck is this! Am I on trial or something?"

"Please don't raise your voice to me."

"Whatta! I just want to deposit my fucking money here to pay the fucking rent so that my family and I have a fucking roof over there heads. Now, I don't know what your problem is or how this fucking bank became a fucking police station and how you, a fucking teller still wet behind the ears became magically morphed into a fucking detective... but if you would put my fucking money in my fucking account for which dubious fucking service I and everybody else in this fucking hole of a country are fucking royally fleeced by the minute I would fucking appreciate it on behalf of whatever fucking common sense, respect for rights or common fucking decency is left in this fucking, fucked-up world!"

"Security!"

"Fuck you!"

"I am not prepared to endure verbal abuse from the likes of you Mister Flynn. Security!"

"Make some small effort to join the human race you brain-dead tool of Fascism! Get your hands off me!"

And so, a little man who went to his 'friendly' bank to pay his rent was escorted out into the street by a tall dude in a blue uniform... still clutching his wages and wondering what the hell had happened to him; and why or how that particular rainy morning he ended up impersonating Steve Martin in the film Boats, Planes and Automobiles.

Outside, he made a gallant effort to free himself from the iron grip of the security guard who flung him against a lamppost in his line of duty. He felt a zinging pain and a bump raise on his forehead. Beside himself now with fury, Mick rounded on his assailant and hit him with all his might. The big man fell unconscious to the ground. A cop car came out of nowhere.

And that is how Mick ended up in a jail in Dublin, far from his home, serving three years for assault and how his wife left him and emigrated to Canada with the children. How he lost his job, his passport, his freedom, his life, his future and his rights.

So far as we know, Mick did not acclimatize too well to prison roputine and has spent the best part of the first year of his sentence in solitary confinement after trying to escape.

And all because one morning he decided to spare his wife the drudgery of going to the bank and decided to call in himself on his way to work.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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