Bank Holiday Mumday

I had to go to the bank with mum this morning to sort out a few things involving failed transactions and dubious signatures. Not fraudulent activity. Just my mum signing things completely different to the signature she gave to the bank just a few weeks ago.

I started the day off by getting to Halifax ridiculously early. I could have had another hour in bed, but instead I chose to get up and leave from here way too early and got to spend that hour in a coffee shop reading a book and checking the time every five minutes or so.

When we eventually got to the bank, and were seen by someone, it was one of those situations where you could see that the person who was dealing with us wished she wasn’t dealing with us. Or that the issues we had were a lot easier to sort out. I was probably guilty of the same things when I worked in a bank. I mean I did once stay with a customer I liked swapping ring tones with them because the next lady in the queue had no shoes on. So it definitely does happen. We had shoes on, though. Because we weren’t crazy. Well, one of us at least.

Mum, though, has an amazing habit post-stroke. If things aren’t going right, or not in the manner she wishes they would go, she launches into a bit of a grumpy moan which culminates in her sayings “Oh I can’t be arsed with this…” and starts to get cross.

Which is hilarious when it’s not happening while you’re there. It was funny – sort of – when she got into a strop with the washing machine and threw the entire printed-out instructions all over the front room and stamped on them all.

Otherwise, it’s awful. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. I was being the voice of reason, as I often find myself in these situations. The stop-gap between banking and non-banking. And mum was getting grumpier and grumpier and kicking off a bit. That and the fact that she was due to go to Whitby yesterday and couldn’t because we needed to sort this bank stuff out. That wasn’t helping either.

I mean, it worked. All sorts got done. But more, I think, in the hopes of getting her out of the room as quickly as possible than from any customer service point of view. Honestly, I felt so bad when she started. It was bad enough that at one point we were left in the room by ourselves for a while and I wondered if the reason for that was because they were phoning the police because it looked like a con man was trying to diddle a little old lady out of some money.

Then I escorted her to the bus stop where she proceeded to push in front of several people who, I imagine, she couldn’t see because they were on her left.

It’s been a long day.