Really, Banker Who Is “Broker Than The Ten Commandments”?
I don’t know much about banking, but I’ve played more than one game of OREGON TRAIL in my day, and I know that any banker worth his or her salt has at least $600 on his or her person at all times. And that’s in mid-nineteenth-century Boston dollars!
Get with the times. Like, the times of 1843. Else you’re bound certain for a grave, thus:
Monday, 12 January, 2009 at 7:54 pm |
I think calling me a “banker” is a stretch, considering I am pretty much a glorified secretary (the title “Trust Assistant I” doesn’t quite connote the mundanity of what I actually do).
Here’s the deal: On January 7 (my fucking birthday, of all days), my car insurance payment, which is set up on a direct debit, and which I only pay every six months, and which I had completely forgotten about, hit my checking account, which was already pretty depleted from holiday rocking. Anyway, my checking account went overdrawn, and in the days following THAT, several other debit-card swipes that I had committed previous to the overdraft went ahead and posted to the account as well, thus putting me even further in the red, and bringing along a hefty fee with each one.
Luckily, working for the bank, I think I may have sweet-talked my way into getting some or all of the fees removed eventually, which would be nice. In the meantime, payday isn’t until the 15th, and I will have basically zero dollars until then.
I don’t think the bankers of 1843 had to deal with such things as car insurance, direct debits, or overdraft fees, but it’s a cute reference.