The last time I went to see a bank’s financial advisor he tried convincing me to invest my meager savings in shares. This was about four years ago. As you’d imagine, I was a little bit hesitant. “What happens if something unprecedented were to happen to the global economy?” I questioned.
“Nonsense! The economy has never been in such a stable state” the advisor replied.
“But what if another disaster were to happen? Something you couldn’t predict, like?”
“You mean like 9/11 or something?”
To be honest, I had been thinking along those lines, but it seemed inappropriate to be discussing specific examples of mass-barbarity in relation to something as frivolous as my bank account. He on the other hand, was not so discreet. It was like he was well-versed in responding to this question, almost pre-empting it from my lips.
“Oh don’t worry about that.” He blustered. “I actually profited greatly when that happened – In fact, 9/11 was brilliant for me!”
And so it was. He even had the evidence to back it up and everything. This seemed an odd and positively callous and tactless thing for him to say. How did he expect me to respond? Did he expect my gratitude that at least all those innocent lives hadn’t been lost in vain? I’m sure the victims will be pleased that such a nice sympathetic humanitarian banker was able to benefit from such a horrific tragedy.
It may have been this lack of humanitarian principle which led me to resisting any investment. And in retrospect, given the contemporary state of the economy, I can’t help feeling I made the right choice.
I am not stupid. I am well aware what my scheduled appointment with the bank was for. These types of financial advisors are simply door-to-door salesmen who aim to make you buy stuff. The only difference is that these salesmen have the audacity to make YOU go to THEIR door so they can sell you something. But I had previously decided that I would fulfill my appointment with HBOS today. The reason? To tell you about it of course. Every day, I sit at these keys, desperately scratching my head, trying to think of something interesting to report on. It ain’t easy when each day of your life becomes a weaker carbon-copy of the last. At least my meeting would be a break from the norm, and hopefully give me some potential fuel for an entry. Honestly – I’m not kidding - that’s what effect keeping this blog is having on me!
I am hoping this ‘say yes’ attitude might eventually pay off, and it will lead me into doing progressively more interesting things. It’s is probably the same chain of thought that lead to really popular ‘documentary projects’, such as Dave Gorman’s thing where he ends up jet-setting all round the world to meet others with his namesake. Or Bruce Parry’s Amazon thing, where he meets tribes and fits in with their radical cultural values, taking unheard-of hallucinogenics or drinking cocktails of goat’s blood and old ladies spit, whilst dodging gun-toting drug smugglers. Yes – this blog has a lot in common with all that sort of stuff. Seriously – it does. Think about it. We all adopt actions that are out of our comfort zones, in order to inspire our writings. The only difference with my inspiration is that rather than sodding off onto a plane to head off to some other part of the world to endanger my life, I am meeting a chap called Gareth Collins in HBOS on a Friday dinner time in Wolverhampton.
Or at least that was the intention. My appointment was scheduled for 11.30. Because I am a cautious timekeeper, I arrived five minutes early and was invited to sit in the waiting area for a while. By 11.37, 7 minutes past our agreed appointment time, there was still no sign of Gareth Collins. This seemed a bit of a liberty on his part – if someone wants to sell me something, then the least I expect is for them to turn up on time to do so. I have a workplace to be at. A job I need to go to so it can pay my wages. And, by default, Gareth’s too. His tardiness irritated me so much, I stood up and left. That’s right – left. As brazenly as that. Without saying a single word. To anyone.
Marching through the HBOS doors, I was overcome with a strange sense of liberation reminiscent of my student days. “That’ll teach ‘em”, I thought to myself. It sounds silly, but through my humble protest, it felt like I was ‘sticking one to the evil capitalist regime’.
Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, this euphoria has long-faded. I now come to realise my mildly disruptive actions were not doing anyone any favours. What if my circumstances change and I find suddenly myself needing to sort out an overdraft? After today’s display of arrogance, any vulnerability would automatically make future appointments an embarrassing affair. Especially if I end up having to finally meet with Gareth Collins. I just hadn’t thought it through properly.
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