Do you want advice with that?
Since I still use my American bank, I seldom interact with the British banking system. Today, however, I needed cash so I visited a Barclay’s bank “cashpoint. (Note to British readers: In America this is known as an ATM for Automatic Tiller Machine, or, as my uncle calls it a Magic Money Machine). Apparently I haven’t used a Barclay’s cashpoint before, because after choosing to withdraw cash, the machine asked if I wanted an advice slip. This was a new phrase for me.
An advice slip? It had to be the same as a receipt, I figured, about to push the button, since I always collect receipts for automatic transactions. But then I hesitated. What if “advice slip” was really some sort of clever marketing ploy. By pressing “advice slip,” was I inadvertently signing myself up for some kind of personal banking scheme?
What if the machine had retrieved full access to my accounts once I slipped in my card, and, using some sort of cruel algorithm blind to the plight of an overseas volunteer living with a not-very-friendly-exchange rate, had determined that my outgoings far exceeded my incomings and I was in desperate need of financial advice? Perhaps the slip would read, “You are an economic fool. We are putting a temporary freeze on your bank card until you sign up for one of our excellent savings plans. A bank manager will ring you shortly.”
Curiosity got the better of me, however, so I pushed the button. Out came an innocuous little slip that was hardly a receipt. All it did was record the amount of my withdrawal.
I then proceeded to meet a new friend for lunch. As we discussed British-American differences, I told her about the “advice slip” quandary, and fished it out of my purse.
“Advice slip?” she said, chuckling. “I suppose that does sound a little odd. Don’t worry, it’s just a receipt. It’s not going to tell you it’s time to lose weight or anything like that.”
The advice slip adventure reminded me of a particularly frustrating run-in I had with an Irish cashpoint outside Dublin during my March visit. We stopped to get some Euros, and after I put in the card the machine asked me, before asking anything else, if I’d like a receipt for the transaction. I pressed Yes. A few questions later, it once more asked me if I’d like a receipt for the transaction. Once again, I selected Yes.
A few questions later, the screen flashed, “You have a requested a receipt for this transaction. Is this correct? Press ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to proceed.” I pressed Yes. The machine then flashed another screen that read, “This machine is unable to print receipts at this time. If you would like to proceed press ‘Yes.” I pressed Yes once more. Finally I walked away with Euros in hand, sputtering with both laughter and annoyance. But I never did get a receipt. Or an advice slip.
Comments
Just stumbled upon your blog, Stephanie, and it was such a pleasure to read of your reverse experience to mine, as an English freelance writer living in California! I have been here for 18 astonishingly rapid years (after intending to stay a mere six months), so watch out for that. I do often wonder how it would be to transition back to a life in the UK, despite fairly frequent visits. I think that I, too would miss most the incredible sense of space and freedom that we have here in the States. I have maintained my afternoon tea drinking and make a mean batch of scones at the drop of a (baseball) hat! Hope you have a minute to check out my blog whenever you feel homesick for the States!
Posted by: Frances | May 16, 2008 03:00 PM
Thank you, Frances! I've peeked at your blog and marveled at the pure, wonderful Western-ness of it all. I dearly love Chicago and it is my adopted home, but I grew up in the Arizona desert and will always be a Western girl at heart. You're right--there is something about those wide, open spaces that gets in the blood. One of my friends in Nottingham is originally from Portsmouth, and she has the fabled call of the sea in her veins, and I liken it to my own yearning for the rugged expanses of the Southwest. I think that's why I felt so at home in the Scottish Highlands.
Posted by: Stephanie Fosnight | May 19, 2008 04:28 PM