If there's
anything that bugs me, it's meaningless bureaucracy. Had a little
run-in this morning, with that anachronism of sixty years or more,
and it's all I can do to just run away – fast and furious. It was
a bank – not surprisingly – that brought out my wrath. Bad enough
their obscene profits; they have to be obtuse and annoying in the
process.
Last week, I was
thinking about doing a little traveling in the fall, so dropped in to
my local CIBC, and spoke with a nice young man about setting up an
account that would let me withdraw cash in most countries. My normal
banking company doesn't have actual, physical outlets, and their
debit card is not guaranteed to work outside Canada.
The nice young man
told me to come back with my VISA card, and a passport, which I did;
I also brought with me a second credit card, some bills with my
address, including a tax bill, and my Ontario teacher's ID card. The
only photo was on the passport, which happened to be Irish rather
than Canadian. Canada's passports must be renewed every five years –
another source of tedious bureaucracy – while Ireland's last ten
years. So although I am Canadian, born in Toronto, I have Irish
citizenship as well, through my grandfather.
I can't really
blame the nice young man – even if all he did was repeat the rules
over and over, and show me the brochure that states those rules. It's
the manager's fault; and I have grave doubts about what those people
can honestly “manage” in real life. God forbid they should base
a decision on common sense - in this case lots of ID, including a
photo on a passport which states I was born in Canada. I also have a
mortgage with CIBC, which they have in their files, and have had many
accounts with them over the years.
But stupid rules
are stupid rules, and so, rather than offer service, they rigidly and
dim-wittedly maintained their position for precisely and only
what's listed in their beloved brochure – and thus lost my
business. Oh, I know they don't really care, because I would have had
a “no-fees” account, and CIBC wouldn't make a profit from this
one pathetic customer.
It's a good thing I can sing; and don't have to live a life limited
by “business”. Even if I'm poor – and I can live, and have
lived, below the poverty line quite happily, often enough. I think I
have more by being able to remove myself from this “mean” mean. I
quit office jobs a long time ago because of this same lack of
intelligence, imagination, and commitment to what I consider reality.
I'm reminded of my very brief stint many years ago with the
government's income tax service: we all sat in rows in a big room,
checking returns, while a man did nothing but walk up and down the
aisles, presumably to make sure we were working. I used to put my
pencil down, and place my hands in my lap until he passed my desk.
He never said a mumblin' word, of course. Jerk.
I quit the job as soon as I could.
I'm singing tonight at Gate 403
403 Roncesvalles Avenue, Toronto
9pm
with John Deehan, sax; Mike Allen, guitar; and Ron Johnston, bass
Come and have some fun.
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