There's One Born Every Minute
'Well,' spake Banana #1' we are here to give people FREE credit cards.'
'Everyone enjoys FREE credit cards.' agreed Banana #2.
'Which credit card do you currently use?' they asked in unison. I informed them that I did not, nor ever had, one in my possession.
They exchanged looks.
'You mean you've never had one?' one asked carefully while the other rifled through his briefcase to get a handful of papers. They seemed shaken and confused, like an albino coming out of a solarium.
'I've never seemed to need one.'
There are two types of people who have credit cards. The first type are those who are gifted with a financial sleight-of-hand. These people are great at juggling their own wealth, as well as the wealth of others. You see these people getting tans in Spanish villas- evading all kinds of silly laws while their offshore Cayman Island accounts get fat off the stupidity of idjits. The second type, dubbed 'the Clumsy Waiter' personality cannot juggle accounts to save themselves, which may sometimes be the actual case. Financially speaking The Clumsy Waiter is akin to that guy who not only gets the order wrong, but will spill these wrong orders into the laps of the worst kinds of people. They buy expensive things they do not need and end up either cutting up their cards or floating face first in the Yarra.
(End of nonsensical Interlude)
They then proceeded to hound me with difficult questions like...
1. Do you have a bad credit rating? ....er....no? (For details of Fatman's bad credit rating please refer to previous e-mail 'Why I am hated by Telstra')
2. Do you earn more than $30,000 a year? Probably. (Also not true. After these guys left I had a quick play on the electronic abacus-thing that I found inside my phone the other day to discover I earn less than your average busker)
3. Do you have any children? ('That you know of? Ha Ha.' they asked. Textbook 'get-the-sucker-to-laugh-with-you' schtick. I maintained a false smile that hopefully said 'Go-to-hell')
They left soon after. I doubt I'll ever see them again. Once they regain their hearing from the immense sonic H-bomb/ blaring of alarm bells that will commence from the moment they type in my credit details to the moment they forcefully unplug their computers. The salesmen will eventually nurse their wounds by enjoying a nice, light beer, served by a schmo like me, in their Spanish villas far away from the hopeless, the helpless and the poor.
Why do I waste your time?