I was standing in a bank the other day trying to move money from one account to another. I was moving my money from one of my own accounts to another of my own accounts. I don’t know if you’ve tried doing this recently but it gets harder by the week. You need to produce a driving licence or passport, of course. (Heaven help you if you don’t have one or the other, or preferably both.) And you need your bank card. And, depending upon the mental state of the cashier, you may need a utility bill, a tax form and a council tax demand. You may need a note from your mother. I suspect it’s easier to obtain a shotgun licence than to move your own money around.
And, of course, they now have a veritable litany of questions to fire at you. ‘Has anyone asked you to make this transaction?’; ‘Are you under pressure to do this?’ And so on and so on. They pretend the questions are to protect us but only the naïve and dim-witted believe that. These stupid questions devised by very wicked people to delay the whole procedure and to force us all to bank online.
One of the daftest questions is something along the lines of: ‘Is anyone waiting outside for you?’
Standing next to me, at the neighbouring window, stood a little old lady. She too was trying to move money from one account to another so that she could pay a bill.
‘Is anyone waiting outside for you?’ asked the bank clerk.
‘Oh yes,’ said the little old lady naively. ‘My friend brought me.’
The clerk looked as pleased as if she’d won the lottery. ‘Oh, well I can’t help you then,’ she said with a big smile and a sense of satisfaction you could have bottled.
The little old lady didn’t understand. ‘But my neighbour had to bring me,’ she explained. ‘I’m 93. I had to give up my driving licence.’ She didn’t understand that logic and honesty are no longer relevant.
‘But your neighbour might have put you under pressure to make this transaction,’ said the clerk, brim full of sanctimonious, self-righteous, box-ticking obedience.
‘My neighbour?’ said the old lady. ‘Why would she do anything nasty to me? I’ve known her for nearly 50 years.’ She looked around, bewildered. ‘I’ve been banking here for years. Doesn’t anyone recognise me?’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said the clerk, her joy now slightly diluted by exasperation. ‘I can’t help you if you have someone waiting for you. Those are the rules.’ And then she added the killer. ‘It’s for your protection.’
And so the old lady, puzzled and confused, tottered out of the bank and back to her neighbour’s car.
I’ve changed identifying details but I swear that happened.
And I’m not surprised.
Morons (of whom there are many these days) claim, as they have been told, that the inquisition is for our benefit. That’s yet more bollocks. The banks want to force us online. And, as a side effect, they want to absolve themselves from blame when they screw up (which they do on a regular basis – almost as often as doctors do).
Bank staff seem to have been indoctrinated by the same people who indoctrinated NHS staff, train drivers, civil servants, teachers, council employees and just about everyone else in this increasingly miserable and oppressive world of ours.
Last week, I was even more daring. I tried to take money out of the bank instead of moving it about. I went into the bank wanting to take out some money – a little more than the machine would allow me to withdraw. I had bills to pay and I wanted to buy some presents.
‘Are you going to take this money home and keep it there?’ asked the clerk.
I thought this was an incredibly stupid question. The woman was a stranger and she had my address on a screen in front of her. She wanted to know if I was going to take money home and keep it there to be stolen. What an idiot. So I was a little cautious. As any sensible person would, I said ‘No’.
‘So, why do you want this money?’ asked the impertinent bank clerk.
‘To buy sweets,’ I replied. It has been my standard reply to this question for years.
Bang. The shutters came down.
You can’t make light hearted comments any more.
The clerk looked at her screen as if it was telling her something.
‘Your request has been blocked,’ said the clerk.
In full sight of other customers I was ushered into a room and the door was closed.
And I was interrogated. I felt like a criminal. Most people would, I think, have found it a humiliating and embarrassing encounter.
Phone calls were made. I was instructed to answer questions put to me on the telephone.( I couldn’t understand the questioner’s accent and so I needed a translator.) To check my identity I was asked for my date of birth (a piece of information that is about as secret as Prince Harry’s level of affection for his brother).
And eventually, after what seemed like several hours of interrogation, I was, with ill-grace and no apology, given the amount of money I had requested.
It wasn’t a loan I was asking for. It was my money.
It is, of course, all part of the scheme to force us to bank online – ready for the digital currency they have ready for us.
Your bank hates you. They want to turn you into nothing more than numbers on a computer.
And the staff of banks everywhere are, I fear, too stupid to realise that as soon as the digital currency, managed entirely online, is here then they will all be surplus to requirements. Every last one of them will be joining the dole queue – where they will stay forever, surviving on their Universal Basic Income and living in a small cardboard walled flat the size of a dog kennel.
And they laugh and sneer and think I’m a conspiracy theorist.
But they won’t.
Because the rules, the regulations, the endless lies, the lockdowns and the mRNA covid jabs have turned their brains to mush.
And if they are told to stick their head in a bucket of custard then their only question will be: ‘How long should I keep it there?’
The end is nigh, my friends. Very nigh.
Oh, and one last thing.
The banks make a great fuss about our responsibilities and their lack of them. But did you know that Barclays Bank has just been fined $361 million by the US Securities and Exchange Commission? And do you know why? Well, they ‘accidentally’ sold $17.7 billion worth of structured financial products for which they did not have authorisation. The total effect on shareholders (including many pensioners), as a result of this $17.7 billion `accident’, was to help push down net income by 19%.
The little old lady’s one mistake was that she didn’t tell the clerk to move $17.7 billion that she didn’t have from one account to another. They’d have done that with a smile and probably given her a free pen and a cup of coffee too.