How to Spot Aliens in the Bank.

A typical day in GTB

Plagiarism Alert!!! 

This post  idea was stolen inspired by a funny post I came across on Facebook yesterday regarding the types of people you meet in the banking hall and while I was reading and laughing my head off in agreement, I was like “ahn ahn, this person is my kindred spirit. We must have been the only sane people to have ever visited the bank". 

So I sha copied the theme of the write-up is the moral of the story I have been narrating above.

*yawns* who doesn't plagiarize! Even Linda does.

For starters, I actually haven’t visited the bank in a while as I operate on a token internet level (bigs gehs tinzz) so it's possible people have actually changed(I will bend like the Iphone 6 if they have). And I can’t even remember the last time I physically visited the bank. Probably one of those days I discovered a 2naira deduction from my account.

What nonsense! Fraud in Nigeria must stop. No one can cheat me on this earth. We have to join hands to eradicate corruption and 2 naira thieves money laundering in this country. Abacha must go! Seriously, he must!

Probably some genes I inherited from my mum’s side of the family but I’m one of those few eccentric personalities that have no qualms visiting the bank to complain about any little activity in my account as I always convinced myself I was helping my community rid the country of corrupt bankers. 

Truth is that this stingy koko attitude had to do with my customer service background.

Whatever you deduce this picture to be, you are right. Yes, we all did it.

While working with a major telecommunications company during the call center days, we used to have subscribers call in to complain about some strange 1:50 kobo deduction from their credit account or that 2MB was taken off their existing data account without explanation or that they called another network and instead of being charged N24.30kobo, they were billed N27.14kobo. And they'd like to know what happened. (Many of them spoke impeccable English and actually sounded outraged, indignant  and righteously cheated of their inheritance money).

The saying “talaka lagidi” is very true my people. We They are very stubborn and aggressive(Meaning a poor person is very stubborn)

My people, it was bad enough that amnesty was granted to these Niger Delta militants guys that terrorized Niger Delta or that Boko-Haram decided to cease fire after many lives had been lost. Despite all these problems in Nigeria, someone actually picked up the phone, waited for more than 30mins for the next available agent, allowed them to waste their beautiful voices in an exhilarated manner- “Welcome to a wonderful world, my name is Idenfo Abasian Edet and how may I assist”- hoping to speak with a bank director or a marketing analyst with genuine issues like “I can’t make calls to Europe from my postpaid line” only to hear Mutiu or Nohimo complain of a N1.25 kobo deduction? “Kilode ti e shey yo owo mi, shey e fe gba epe oloyimomo?”(Why did you remove my money or you want me to place a hot curse on you?)

No wonder GEJ removed subsidy from petrol.

Whose husband  or which company's CEO is this?

Anyway, back to the matter. We have some specific people that come to the bank and exhibit some annoying habits which is why immediately I walk into GTB any bank, I just put on a huge *stay away from me oh ye Ebola suspect* frown so no one would approach me. You should be able to identify your kinsmen below.

No I don't smile when you borrow my pen.

Banking Hall Visitor 1 -The Pen Borrowers: We all know them. You may still be trying to calculate the money in the envelope on your hand so you could write the exact amount when suddenly you hear “Can I borrow your pen when you are finished?” My people, it’s usually so hard not to borrow them as they would be basically all up in your face breathing through your air space looking confused and dazed. The most painful part is that some of them just waltz away like black magic into the hall without you recognizing them ever again. You’d now look around embarrassingly towards the person beside you and say “please may I borrow your pen” trying to speak proper English so you sound different from the nitwit that borrowed yours and disappeared. The truth is the person lending you is probably also thinking “See this one coming to the bank without a pen, kpsheew”. And the vicious cycle continues.

Can you see me? That dark person on the queue? Yeah, that's me. 

Banking Hall Visitor 2- “I’m Behind You Please: Ah, you must have met them – the indirect back tagger. You watch them walk into the bank smartly and purposefully, then come directly behind you while you are still wondering quietly whether the person had the bank forms in full bulk at home and had filled it since they have refused to branch in the form section. While you were still wondering nosily whether the person was just a thief sent to observe the hall, you hear the person speak close to your ear, “Sister, please I am behind you and someone is behind me” before they walk away to fill a form. You nod absently not thinking much to this until someone comes behind you and you turn to see another person and you quickly say to the person, “there are two people behind me”. The person nods absently and leaves briefly to collect some forms but quickly say before leaving “please I am behind the people behind you”. Ghen ghen! At this point, your eyes will begin to glaze from confusion and disorientation as a result of the maze- like space keeping quiz already forming in your disoriented brain on the space allocation metrics you are calculating in your poor mind. And it's only deposit or withdrawal you came to make o. Someone is now allowing you to calculate the Mathematical space formula which was the major reason you studied Yoruba in school- so you don't do any calculation. *I'd like to see the bank manager pls. I think my brain has been hijacked*

King Jaffe Joffa Alabaru 1 of the Banking Hall Kingdom.

Banking Hall Visitor 3- Meet the King & Ruler of the Banking Continent : Ah, you know them. We all do. They are everywhere around us. They are influential in the banking hall with their hidden crowns and majestic walking sticks. You will see them in public places where human beings queue. But a whole king like them, queue? Hian! Abomination of the highest order! Their ancestors never queued. Why should they?
Once they walk in, you sense the air of nonsense and fake influence only the security could smell and who would not only pay obeisance to them in a very irritating manner but will leave their post to take them to where ever they are going exactly. They then bring out a kind of form and drop it in front of the cashier smiling and even greeting them by their first name. The Branch manager may even beckon to them while they are still smiling at the cashier and they follow the branch manager to his office. By now, you may have dropped your cheques so you are deliriously convinced they will attend to you first. For where! Like a Kanayo O. Kanayo blood money movie, you’d just feel the magic breeze without seeing it when another banker will come collect some cash with the cheques for him to sign at the back, pass him his money and right in your very presence leave before you, while you stay on the queue looking like the hall mumu.




Some people become suspects instantly with the way the door machine will be going off repeatedly

Banking Hall Visitor 4 “The Non-compliant Door Refugees: You will know them. Or you are even them. And we all pray not to meet or be this person at the bank entrance. These people always have problems at the entrance. For every time they step into the door, the annoying machine lady tells them to step out. And because they don’t want to forfeit the slot, they remove an item from their body and give to the security, gradually and gradually while the rest of us on the queue hope and pray it doesn't get to the point where they’d have to strip nekid. *shudders* Biko I’m married and my mummy said if I see any other man’s ugly body apart from my husband, I won’t make heaven. (Idris Elba does not count.)




Even with clear explanation like this, some people are still not destined to pass at first attempt.

Banking Hall Visitor 5 “Withdrawal Slip Wasters”: People like this should be given a pencil and an eraser to fill a form until they get it right. Then they will use the pen to trace the pencil on the paper they wrote the account details. Because if they erase to write with the pen, they might miss a letter or word and start all over again. People like this may not come with their pen and then waste the pen owner’s time while still using the pen to correct mistakes and refill the forms. They fill, cancel, try and rewrite, see the paper is rough, take another one, fill, count the money again, cancel, sign on the cancellation, see the roughness, cancel, start all over again, and repeat cycle. The solution to this is for banks to make rules – one withdrawal/deposit form should be 200naira and the pen should be 100naira for every 10mins. You will then see that people can actually write fast, pay attention to extreme detail and will come with a sample writing paper where they will copy all they had written from home word for word. You will hear annoying things like “Brother shebi this is 40 not 14 abi? Thank you”, “Sister, please is this, Thirteen or Thirty?”, “Aunty, please help me compare the information in this paper and form that they are the same because is only 200 naira I have here”. And not to mention the hawking business in the banking hall with people coming with their own pens for sale at 50naira and pencils and eraser to erase errors for 10 naira.

Yesssss, they exist amongst us and you will see them more in banking halls.

Banking Hall Visitor 5 “Aliens From Pluto”: Rumor has it that these people were among the occupants of the last unidentified flying object that was discovered in the shores of Russia in the 80’s. They simply cannot do not belong around us and still ask foolish questions and are only visiting hence the kind of questions they ask while you are still counting the money you want to deposit. “Please what’s today’s date?”, “How many 500’s can I get in 25,000?”, “Pls is today Monday?”, ‘Ezcuse me sister, do I need an id card to open an account?” ‘Brother, pls can I transfer money to London and the person will still get it today”?

So, where do you belong? Because frankly speaking, I have been a non-compliant door refugee in the past and because I am known for carrying bags that can conveniently hide the head of a cow, the intestines of a lion, the stomach of an antelope and the backside of a cheetah, I get to be searched many times, “remove your earrings ma”, “are you wearing belt or any other iron?" (The idiot must have meant my coste bra), “pls bring your phones”, “and your rings and keys ma”, and after the embarrassing situation which may have been witnessed by the very hot dude waiting in line (are those 6 packs real? dayuuum!) “ma, you will have to put your bag and iron property in our safe deposit box here”.

Meanwhile, am I the only one that has a problem with banks tying down their common 10 naira eleganza and bic biro? I mean, I am depositing millions into your bank daily(kill yourself) and you are tying down your bic biro? Who should acquire a whole biro company and give people free pens daily if not them! Hian!

Some people are probably still reading that millions of naira part I wrote above trying to calculate how much they think I earn and can't just get over it. *millions ke, ibo loti ri? Elo lon gba gan. Jide, elo lon san fun yin nii Konga* They may even bring out a calculator sef. lol

CLAIMER & DISCLAIMER- Ideas for post topic and sub topics were originally sourced from the internet but all added contents are solely of the writer's experience and over active imagination.

The Problem with that Toast Bread & Hot Cup of Milo

I should have been suspicious from the start.

As soon as I heard the slight scuffle at the door that suggested someone was trying to gain entrance into the room, I opened my eyes grudgingly and with the last strength I had. And with growing horror and eyes literally bulging out of its sockets, I took cognizance of what he had in his hands.

I had never been so scared and worried as I was that fateful evening.

Some hours earlier

The public break was a rather long one and I had been very excited that I was going to spend it with Hubby even though I knew the most part would be spent in the kitchen cooking up delicacies for the head of the clan.

Hubby loves public holidays a lot. A whole lot, as it is usually a guarantee that he’d get to eat three palatable square meals each day whether I liked it or not. It was only during these times that he gets to exert his “man of the house” power that deserves to be fed like the king that missed his calling. Because according to him, “It shows abysmal failure on your part as a wife that you don’t wake up early to make me breakfast to eat at home and only give me food to take to work. What do you want me to eat before I leave for work?” He’d ask with a very innocent look of a food- deprived person. It doesn’t matter that he takes the food I’d cooked the night before to work on a daily basis. Mba! With Hubby, you are only as good as your last task as a cook.

For him, he wants it all or nothing where food is concerned. I’m one of those few women that’d never ask a man, “choose between me and food”. I already know the answer.

If you love me, you will give me food now

So it was a surprise when the last day of the public break saw me feeling a bit fatigued and weak. I had gone out earlier and touched so many places. And by the time I got back home, tired could not begin to define how I felt. Before I got home though, I was already fuming in silence behind the wheels while nursing a strong headache, “hmmm, I hope I won’t get home and this guy will start asking for boiled plantain and jungle sauce because I am so not feeling well. Nobody should stress me at all. I am not making dinner for anyone tonight. Marriage is to be enjoyed. I mean why can’t he cook? How can he ask me to cook? Who does that? This is so not fair. How could he do this to me?” I ranted on and on in my mind. I even noticed some weird glances I got from other road users probably wondering why I had a very huge frown on my face all alone in the car. I wasn’t surprised when a driver that was still trying to jump into my lane decided otherwise and moved forward.

I couldn’t blame him. My furious looks in that car alone would have stopped the cold war.

It was even more hilarious because I hadn’t even gotten home or close to home but like every typical woman, I had blown the whole situational scenario out of proportion. And as I drove into the compound and saw he was also just getting home, I packed my face well into the countenance of a very sick person while limping and breathing heavily with exaggeration. I should mention here that I was feeling genuinely quite down because I had visited over 5 locations in one day and this was enough to make me stressed out. But my brain had totally forgotten all that and convinced my mind that I was seriously ill that after a while, I began to believe and act ill.

While I was putting up all the drama acts, he was still seated in his car but I knew he could see me so I limped while adorning the look of an admitted patient in ICU. As soon as he stepped out of his car and said, “You look so stressed and sick, are you ok?” I knew I had won the game even though I felt a pang of guilt. But I knew heaven would have to come down for me to make amala and okra soup that night for anyone. But because I am eternally joined to a man with an extremely good heart and a very compassionate soul, all he said was “just go upstairs, take a shower and sleep for the night. Pele luv”

Awwwww. I almost jumped with glee but knew I had to keep the act up. I did as he asked and as soon as I hit the bed, I slept off. When I woke few hours later, it was pitch dark and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, Hubby came into the room and softly asked, “How are you feeling? What would you like to eat?”

You see, it’s a surprise I had never considered acting because my acting skills would top Genevieve & Rita Dominic put together that night. Immediately my ears picked up that question, I adjusted my voice such that it became thinner than a bird and said “I don’t know”. Hubby closed the door once again and left for God knows where.

Me, I was simply excited I wouldn’t be making dinner for anyone that night. There was enough meals in the refrigerator and all he’d need to do was simply heat it in a microwave. With those thoughts, I happily picked up my phone and checked out updates on Instagram. After some few minutes of liking all pictures-both the meaningful and the ugly ones, I heard the slight scuffle by the door that suggested someone was trying to open the door to our room. I quickly hid the phone under the bed and closed my eyes while he entered the room quietly. And then I opened my eyes with the fake last strength I had. 

With growing horror, I took cognizance of what he had in his hands- 2 pairs of carefully toasted bread and a very hot cup of Milo looking richer than Bill Gates.

My face held myriad of expressions – gratefulness as I was extremely hungry but cooking for myself would mean having to leave the bed and cook which would mean I wasn’t as sick as I claimed, confusion as Hubby hated any domestic task of any kind and I knew making toast would mean cleaning the toaster, boiling water which meant putting water in the jug to heat up, breaking the eggs which meant he used plates and spoons, bringing out the butter which meant he used a knife. And bringing it upstairs from the kitchen is the hardest part which meant he removed the tray from somewhere carefully arranged. In my eyes, the sink was already piling up and I didn't like it. So as I munched on the meal prepared by Hubby, I contemplated all these points while wondering- “Has he cheated?” “Is another woman carrying his baby”, “Has he married another woman”?

Who would be putting on the gen and servicing my car now ehn?

As soon as I finished eating the meal, I contemplated lying back on the bed while holding my tummy in pains pretending to still be weak. But on careful look at the empty plate of toast bread which I scraped to the last crumb and the empty cup of Milo, I knew it wouldn't fly. My Hubby processes information and situations fast. He’d even say it aloud, “So you can finish four slices of bread and a big cup of Milo but you can’t bring your plate downstairs abi”

With Hubby, just don’t push your luck!

So with resignation, I stood from the bed and packed my plate. And as I opened the door to the room, he was coming in with his own meal of toast bread and tea. And he looked so tired with sweats on his adorable face, I felt bad that he had to make me dinner in bed and also made his. But it briefly crossed my mind that our house is well ventilated both with natural air and artificial air coolers and even the kitchen is quite airy. So to be certain he wasn't coming down with a fever, I asked worriedly while trying to clean his face with my hands, “Baby, why are you sweating so much”. My hubby responded very tiredly and stressed out, “It was because I tried to wash some of the plates I used”. My brain stopped processing after he said "Some".

Kilode? Because of ordinary toast bread and tea?

So with resigned trepidation and a slacked jaw, the outcome of this dinner in bed hit me fast and wickedly hard.

Hubby’s siblings and mum had mentioned to me during one of my famous wails to them about Hubby’s domestic challenges that right from childhood, he had never cleared a wash sink completely of dishes or cutlery. This simply meant that when he dropped his place in the sink with his cutlery and cup or any other utensil, he either washed the plate and left the cup and spoons for unknown deities to wash. Or he washed the plate, spoon and cup and left the tray and clutters of food remains in the sink basket for unknown goons to clear. It had always been like that. They had accepted it so they hoped I would too. It had become a family tradition. No one knew why. Nobody could explain the illogicality behind it. But on no account whatsoever does Hubby clear the sink fully.

None!

So within those few seconds after asking why he was sweating so hard in the less than 16 degrees temperature in the house and he mentioning sparingly on sweating as a result of having washed some of the plates, I knew I had made a mistake pretending I was ill. I knew the few hours I spent in bed basking in pure laziness and being fed crisp toast bread with Milo would be used equivalently clearing up the horror I was about to witness downstairs.

And slowly, like someone that had become aware of a certain kind of confrontation, I slowly descended the stairs to the kitchen in an extremely slow motion such that Sylvester Stallone confronting the enemy that killed his family would have been proud. *insert crouching tiger sound track here*

Each step made my heart pound faster as I knew without any doubt I’d be spending a long while in the kitchen. And as I stepped down the last row of stairs and turned into the kitchen to confront what laid practically everywhere, I thanked God for giving me the grace to maintain sanity as I picked up the broom, packer, closed the scattered toaster with its debris, put the heater back in its place, threw the egg shells into the bin, closed the lid of the butter, arranged the dirty plates into the sink, tied the bread and placed back in the fridge, picked up the table clothes and turned the sink tap on, ready to carry out a 2 hours environmental sanitation.

I should have just made that amala and okra jeje. I should have!

*sighs*