There are certain sections of the community that are more likely to get right on my tits than others. As you can probably tell from the title, the customer who inspired this post managed to fall within most of those categories.
This old bat has just opened a Post Office card account for her benefits of which she seems to get a shit load of (tick).
We kinda guessed that this was going to make life difficult for us because as well as being illiterate, she's got to be one of the stupidest people I've seen in a long time. To be honest, the mould under her fingernails (smelly? tick) is more intelligent than she is.
She finally stopped receiving her giro cheques and was told that her cash would now be paid into the account that we helped her set up (demanding? tick). First, she can't quite master the really tricky job of putting the card in the card reader the correct way round. It's hardly fucking rocket science. There's only four different ways it can possibly fit in the slot. Even a pissed up and retarded baboon could get it right fairly quickly. There's even a picture just above the slot for fucks sake. So, after about nine attempts to get the card in correctly we asked her how much money she would like. "All of it" came the inevitable response.
"Pop your number in please"
"What number?"
"Your pin number"
"What number's that?"
"The four digit number you were sent."
"Ahhh, this number" (brandishing a piece of paper with a number written on it.)
"Let's try it and find out."
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep
"That was the wrong number."
"No it wasn't."
"Well, you might have caught a number twice. Try it again and we'll see."
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep
"Hmm, that was the wrong number again. Would you like my colleague to help you?"
"Yes."
(Colleague reads number that's scrawled onto a piece of paper. The six is written backwards or may be a two. We can't tell. Colleague makes best guess and gets the number wrong).
At this point we tell her what's gone wrong and that she needs to call the phone number on the back of the card and tell them that she's locked the card up. This information doesn't seem to be going in.
Twenty minutes later, her son (who is a dead ringer for Cletus the slack jawed yokel in The Simpsons physically, mentally and even has an accent that suggests his family tree is deficient in the branch department) comes in and asks what to do. We tell him to get his mum to phone the number on the back of her card and tell them what happened. This is not good enough despite being the correct information. He demands the number of the department that issues the benefits. We tell him that they won't be able to help and that she needs to call the number on the card. He still wants the other number. Big sighs all round so we give him the number he wants. He then buggers off and we don't see him again for the next couple of days so we assume that things have been sorted out.
See if you can guess whether they have or not.
I'll give you a clue, this family is composed of slack jawed oxygen thieves who are so stupid and pointless that they'd cause Gandhi to passionately argue in favour of eugenics if he ever met them.
Today, family Idiot comes marching in to get mum's pension.
Upon her first attempt, the till tells her to get in contact with the card issuer. Translation, the card is still locked up.
"But I rang the phone number and they said that the money was in the account."
Did we tell you that there was no money in the account? Did we? I know this is probably going to cause you an injury but think really hard for a moment. Is that what we said or did we tell you that you'd fucked up with the pin number and the card was blocked until you tell them to unblock it? So now, please go away and phone the number on the card and tell them to unblock the pin. Is that difficult? I would write it down for you but seeing as you can't read, that'd be about as much help to you as you are to society at large. Actually, that's not fair. She might eat the piece of paper or burn it or something whereas she's nothing but a fucking parasite.
They leave. Less than chuffed.
One hour later, they troop back in again. At this point an almost identical conversation occurs except this time, they're a bit more annoyed. Christ on a bike. We've done our best* but they can't be trusted to follow some simple instructions. On storming out, the old woman says "What do you expect me to do? Starve to death?"
Frankly fatty, that's gonna take a while.
Fucking morons.
*Blatant lie actually, we could have phoned the card issuers then and there and spoken to them ourselves and got this sorted but frankly, we don't like these people so they can go and fuck themselves. For the sake of accuracy, it should read "we've done our best for all they know.
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