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Dear My Bank,
We’ve known each other for a long time. You know how I deposit my humble paychecks every so often, how I rarely use the ATM, and how I hate to use my debit card at the gas station. I know that you like to decorate with bullet-proof glass… guns, I get it… have pens that don’t always work, and always want me to sign up for your credit card. As much as I hate to admit it, we sort of have a thing going.
Let’s be honest Bank. We’re not friends. We don’t even really like each other very much. I know that you have rules. You know… if you’re being honest with yourself, that I do my very best to follow your rules. And I do… Bank…..! Unless, I suppose, I just forget to add one payment to my balance books, leading me to believe I have several hundred dollars in you, Bank… instead of less than zero.
Here’s my beef with you… Bank! Jerky bank. When you penalize me several times in a row for spending money that I thought I had, well… that doesn’t get me any closer to having the money that you’d like to take. How on Earth did you determine that $33 was an acceptable overdraft charge? Why are you allowed to take money that I don’t have? You know what I think? I think you’re taking advantage of my mistake. You know me, Bank. You know that I don’t like to spend money I don’t have… and when I do… accidentally… you use that as an opportunity to take advantage of me.
That’s reeeeeaal crappy.
Nobody likes you. I’ve done the research. It’s true.
Nobody will ever… not even once… make you cookies just because you’re nice. Why? Because you’re not nice.
Now you know.
Love,
C
