Dear teller

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Just a piece of paper

Call me old-fashioned, but when I go to the bank to deposit money, I like to get a receipt for it; much in the same way they like to get a receipt from me, like putting my pin number in the hole-in-the-wall (ATM) for example, when I take cash; I can’t imagine them being too keen on me taking away any dosh without some form of proof to who I am (signature perhaps?) After all, when there’s no lockdown, and I go to a bar and have a coffee, I am given a receipt by law, not just because I’m a terrible old whinger.
Anyway, some time ago now, more than a year, my bank in Italy started refusing to give a printed receipt when I went to make deposits, to which I complained profusely! Their argument was it was their part for saving the Amazon rain forests and global warming, and I would receive an email shortly confirming the deposit. In short I was told I should trust them, and not be such an old ‘moaning Minnie’.
Now, I’ve lived in Italy for a long time now, and when somebody tells me I should have faith, and suggests I have some awful character defect, is exactly the moment I lose faith and no longer have confidence. I trust you not because you tell me to, but because of your actions.
‘If you, dear teller, cock-up, who is anybody going to believe?’
That would be a tough one!

Deep Relaxation

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