Sorry I've been offline for so long (all my millions of cyber-fans out there, yeah right), in my zen process of denuding myself of wordly belongings my computer was one of the first things to go, and so I've been offline for a few weeks. What with finishing work on Friday as well, I'm limited to access at this dodgy internet cafe around the corner from my house. It's low-tech, but actually much easier to deal with than your international cyber-cafe chains, because you can get to the Internet Tools no problem and clear the history yourself.
Today almost all of my belongings are gone. Just a table I eBay'ed that will get picked up tomorrow, and a few things left to set out on the street.
And today I finally called to start saying goodbye to various service people - the phone, the health insurance, the gas company, the power company. The most poignant one was the Commonwealth Bank. I clearly remember setting up the account when I very first arrived, just a fresh-faced kid who'd just turned 29, just a freshly minted PhD all apple-cheeked and shiny-eyed with optimism about her new land and her new job. I wanted a Commonwealth Bank account because it was THE Australian bank, and I was very excited about being Australian. Also there was an office conveniently on campus. I believe I went along with one of the members of department to set up the account - they came along because they were personal friends with the bank manager and could make it all run smoothly. My account always had "St Lucia" as the branch location on it, from thenceforth.
While I was at the branch opening the account, my colleague (I forget if it was Andres or Hinck) told me about the time when my other colleague, another former American, had himself just arrived and opened an account. This other Yank philosopher had arrived in I think the late 1960's or early 1970's (rumor had it he HAD to leave the US because of helping the underground railroad of young men who wanted to dodge the draft going to Canada, but this was never confirmed). He hadn't got paid yet and so had no money at all and was finding things a bit tough. One of the other philosophers found out, I'm pretty sure it was Hinck, and they marched down to the bank and said, "Barry!" (or whatever the bank manager's name was), "This is my colleague G.M. He needs to open an account, and to get a bit of money. Can you help him out?" "No worries, Ian," replied the bank manager. "Come right this way, G." Those were simpler times, when Queensland was a much smaller place, and everyone knew everyone and looked out for each other.
Fast forward to today. People move around so frequently and for such insubstantial reason that when I rolled up to the Commonwealth Bank after 15 years as a customer, and said, "I'm moving overseas and need to close my account," I was walked to a teller, he asked me about four automated questions of a computerised screen, then paid out the balance of my account to me in cash ($34.05), and then said, "Just wait a moment while I cut up your card." Snip! "Anything else I can do for you today, Ms Watson?" Well, no, what else could there be? "Okay, have a nice day." Not even a nice trip, which the AGL, Vodafone and HCF folks all said. Just, snip!, and that's it, done, relationship with bank cut.
I must say I like it better this way, but it did make me stop and think.
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