Going for a quick bank, brb

Today I walked into a local bank branch, filled out a deposit slip and actually spoke to someone behind the counter.
It was like this with much less arse.
The last time I did this the world had yet to hear someone was sorry for party rocking and Gangnam Style was more likely an obscure porn genre than some overdone dance move..
Why has it been so long between bank visits? Because obviously my financial institution has decided that the only time I should ever set foot in the premises is is when all technology has failed mankind and we revert back to cast iron vaults as burly blokes with lever action rifles keep a stern watch.
They do this by making things so ridiculously easy now to buy things with a piece of plastic nestled in my wallet. Once upon a time I'd have to present my key card along with a microscope slide of my DNA and recite The Lord's Prayer while standing on one leg to withdraw a $20 note for lunch. Nowadays all I have to do is fart near a cash register and my magical banking card takes it upon itself to buy all of my groceries on my behalf before your eyes even have a chance to water.
While I was washing my car the other day, my credit card paid its monthly bill itself and then treated itself to a manicure. Meanwhile my Home Loan decided it wanted a bit of a seachange and refinanced itself.
God only knows what my accounts get up to when I'm asleep. 

So I found it incredibly strange when I stepped into the building today, proceeded to fill out the deposit slip and didn't try to eat it instead in some kind of caveman confusion. My wife had given me some cash to desposit into my account so it could quickly be munched away by the Avon corporation and rather than feed it to the beeping machine in the corner, I realized I'd have to go old school here.
Now usually when I give people money I press a couple of internet related buttons, belch in satisfaction and stumble off to discover fire - for a long time this system has worked brilliantly because a) I don't have to do much apart from hit OK a couple of times and b) I don't have to use any foreign objects. Like a pen.
But today I had to strain my brain back to a time before I discovered iDevices, a time when an app was some kind of slang for setting a time to meet someone - and bloody hell it was difficult!

This should keep Avon happy!

BSB? Okay I stumbled through that. Account number? Haven't used it in quite some time since Paypal became all the rage. Where was the account held? Er...Mars? Cyberspace? Buggered if I know. And standing in line to hand over a wad of notes - I have to admit that I was slightly surprised they didn't hand over a bottle of vodka in return. I had my keycard in hand in case the lovely teller suddenly decided to scrunch up my form and instantly go digital, but no. Apparently I'd filled out the right parts of the slip and amazingly not put three R's and a B in my own name by accident.

Phew!

I walked out with a receipt that threw me back to a time when my biggest concerns of the day were pimples and puberty and when my discman made me a king (in my own mind).
Considering I was as smooth as battleship grade sandpaper back then, I'm kind of hoping I won't have to do this strange phenomenon anytime again soon...    


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