Towering in the middle of Queen Street is the massive HSBC building, its aged and beautiful architecture concealing the most wonderful, frustrating, amazing and annoying bank in the entire known universe.
You see, everything anyone could conceivably want to do in there is automated. Normally, this is fantastic. The queues move quicker, the awkward conversation is cut to a minimum and no one judges you when they look at your bank statement and see £135 spent on Bob Dylan CDs that one time. Awesome! Well, it is, until it isn't.
Suddenly cashing in a cheque is equal parts a battle between the capricious whims of this proto-SkyNET system and your own fallible human nature. Did you put every single digit in the right place? Well you'd better be sure, because if you didn't, the digital gnomes that live inside the machines are cashing your £340 rent cheque into the bank account of a 39 year old street walker from Glasgow, giggling maniacally the whole time.
Want to change some forlorn money bags into coppers? HA! No. We are a future bank! We do not offer such pedestrian services! Would you like a mortgage instead?
Ladies and gentlemen, this is the future. And in the future, banks are made to mock you and your paltry funds as the executives sit atop the cash-turrets of their money-castles throwing pennies on the proletariat from such a height they become tiny, copper bullets, laughing, diamond-encrusted hands atop their gold-plated hips the whole time. read more