There is a national banking conspiracy in this country and I will no longer be a spoke the wheel of its machination.

I have had it.

These people, they push me around, they "lose" my money and then when I calmly drag my ass in there on MY WORK TIME they give me the run around. Excuse me, but who the fuck do these people think they are?

I may not be Bill Gates but they are making money off of me too, and just because I'm a girl and I'm young doesn't mean I'm stupid so don't fucking look at me and question me like I'm some type of idiot savant, you fucking just-above-minimum-wage-hooked-on-Phoneix-educated- motherfucker.

This, I am sad to say, is how I get treated when I walk into bank. And this, is why, when I hear of women who have bought real estate or cars or "stuff," I want to stand up and APPLAUD because I KNOW that those women, played the game with the banking system and they played with a handicap and jumped over obstacles like the 4th level on Paperboy (remember that game?) and they beat them. So you know what? If you are a single girl and a homeowner - I applaud you right here and now.

And the fact. That it's the women in there. THE WOMEN. Who treat me like this stupid fucking 10-year-old and raise their voices as they speak DOWN to me. Excuse me? I don't think so. I have a BA degree. I have met Heads of State. I have won academic awards. I have won professional awards. I have been asked to speak to college classes. I was a cheerleader when you wished you could get a date in high school you stupid, dateless fuck.

Oooooh, I really can't believe I just went there! But I did and now I think that cheerleader comment was funny and I refuse to delete. Soak up the humor people.

Back to the point - this shit REALLY pisses me off. What the fuck is wrong with some women? It's like those survivor chicks who voted off the other girls. NEWSFLASH: A guy is never going to choose a girl over a boy, so girls so really need to learn to support their own.

I mean, I go in there and this bitch of a woman asks me questions about what I've received in the mail because I should a received me new bank card. No, I haven't received it. Granted I haven't open my bank mail in about a month, but how about you post some fucking signs in your bank letting me know that it's going to convert everything by X date. Then we find out the card was only mailed 5 days ago, so it's not my fault. So she says, go to the window and fill out a withdrawal form.

I do so, but my account number shows up as a ghost. My balance is zero in my old account, and in my new "converted" account. Teller sends me back to get "authorization" from the chick I just spoke with. Or she tells me I can walk to the Bank HQ - 13 blocks away.

So I stand there, waiting for the customer service rep., while she chats with her friend, on my dime. I watch the clock. Finally, I walk up to the teller and ask her to page the branch manager. I would like to speak with this manager because it's obvious to me that no one at this bank is going to help me.

Suddenly the cheaply dressed she-man of a customer service rep. is "available."

And suddenly, with the emergence of the word "manager" that smug shit-eating smile is wiped of her horse face.

She feigns innocence. "Did you fill out the check like I told you," she asks?

This is the part where I lose my shit.

"NOoooooooooooo," I say, "I filled out the withdrawal slip per your instructions."::TIGHT SMILE:: "Your teller, then told me that no one at this bank can help me and that I need to go to the HQ which is located 13 blocks away. So now I am wondering why you've wasted 30 minutes of my time and I am also wondering, WHO in this organization IS qualified TO help me because I'm very interested in letting them know WHO hasn't been helpful."

Just then another customer service rep. came up (she probably saw the rage on my face in one of the internal bank cameras - this footage will be replayed for everyone's enjoyment at the bank Christmas party, undoubtably) and the biatch called her over and said, "Michelle, can you help this YOUNG woman?"

What the *fuck* kind of mindfuck wordsmithing is that?

Michelle. I would like to write an ode to Michelle. Michelle, my Belle, you rock. Michelle was a young, black woman with a gold front tooth. And when I calmly told her what happened she shook her head from side to side and let out a low whistle. Then she asked me which idiot teller I went to (her words, not mine), and she called her and took a chunk out of her ass.

Then she got my cash. Then she sat down and said, well, I'm concerned, I don't know what you're going to do without a bank card, that's a problem since it's the weekend.

Yes, Michelle, it IS a problem and thank you for recognizing that some people have lives in which they cannot budget and will need to visit the ATM machine at 4AM on Friday and Saturday when they decide to go clubbing for another 5 hours. And when they get out of that club at 9 or 10AM they will need to use their ATM card again to buy some sunglasses to cover their bulging, drug and alcohol induced eyeballs and to buy a bottle of water and to get cab fare home as they try to ditch the shady guy they were making out with on the dance floor when they couldn't even see their own hand but now that they see him in daylight (rather than tripping the light fandango) they just want to get the fuck away and peel these clothes off that they've been wearing for the last 12 hours and crawl in their bed in their cavelike bedroom.

Yes, it is a problem. Thank you for having the insight. To know. How other people work.

I think those Newton Boys were on to something...

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