Bank on your biscuits for trusted institution
Folks, many years ago a nice man from the bank visited our classroom and gave each of us a piggy bank and told us to put something away each week for a rainy day.
This was a bit confusing because the only thing I wanted to save for later were Iced Vovo biscuits and the hole in the top of my money box was way too small for me to stuff them in.
Actually, I'm still confused. Why were they called Iced Vovos? They're not made of ice and I've never seen a Vovo in the wild.
I'm also baffled as to why our banking industry decided to try piracy to improve their bottom lines?
It was 1993 when I took my first fiscal hit up the shorts from the people I'd entrusted to stockpile my loot. Funnily enough, the muggers were the same mob who gave me my first money box.
You see, I'd opened an account for our eldest daughter the day she was born and each week a few dollars was electronically whisked from my pay into her little account. A year later I checked the amount and was stunned to find bank fees had chewed up nearly every cent of her little balance.
The teller explained it was the bank's policy to charge fees on accounts under a thousand dollars and how it was my fault for not checking the balance more often.
I calmly asked her to close all my accounts before they found another way to bilk me. At this point the manager arrived and made all sorts of apologetic noises but banks, like churches, are built on faith and trust; two things they can't afford to fiddle with.
Opening my wallet, I tossed him my last five dollar note.
"Things must be crook if you have to rob babies for your shareholders,” I said.
They handed over my stash and I never went back. Come to think of it, I can't recall getting my five dollars back either?
So today there's only one institution left I can still count on: Iced Vovo biscuits.
Find Greg Bray at gregbraywriter.word press.com or Facebook: Greg Bray - Writer