All grown up...ish
Cash issues, a banjaxed car and a loaner from an unlikely source conspire to make Sophie White feel underqualified for the role of functioning adult
Afew weeks ago, I made a foray into the world of adulthood with the purchase of two brand-new, not pre-loved, not-extracted-from-a-skip, glorious couches. Well, it was more like an attempted purchase. You see, predictably, after the paperwork for the couches was filed, the company who was providing our loan rang to say we’d been rejected on the grounds that, apparently, I didn’t exist.
“Have you ever borrowed before?” they asked. “Yes,” I said, exasperated. “I have a mortgage, and I hardly ever miss a payment.” The “hardly ever” seemed to really trouble them as, after that, they suggested we apply in Himself ’s name. To my chagrin, he was approved within the hour.
The whole incident made me uneasy. Not because they rejected me — that part was right and just, let’s face it; but more because of an incident that was unfolding concurrent to these events between myself and another financial institution: namely, my former bank. I couldn’t help but wonder if the two institutions had been having a little tete-a-tete about me.
Only I could find myself in such convoluted dealings with a bank that’s not even my bank any more. We recently switched banks, which has proven to be one of the single most irritating transactions of all time. Every direct-debit payment had to be moved to the new bank manually.
We thought we’d covered everything, when, weeks later, my mobile-phone provider tried to debit payment from the now-dissolved account. In a surprising move, the ex-bank, instead of ignoring what was clearly not even their problem, opted to spot me the money. It was soundness personified. I’d never heard of a bank doing something like that. I literally had to go down to the ex-bank and give them the 45 quid in person.
We can all agree it’s not exactly living your best life being refused for finance on a couch, having a bank shout you the phone bill and then having to slink down in person to return it.
The final nail in the coffin of my illusory adulthood was the unfortunate fact that all of this coincided with a new low in terms of vehicular issues. I can now only enter and exit my car via the front passenger seat. This means that my every departure includes an embarrassing climb into the car, clambering over the front seat, while, on arrival at any destination, I practically fall out of the thing.
Obviously with all this failing at life, we’ve little to console ourselves with, except the gorgeous couches. So, natch, I immediately ruined them, breaking the ‘no food in the living room’ rule and dropping a burrito all over one of them. This burrito bowl, on the other hand, is a lot more new-couch-friendly.
“It’s not exactly living your best life, being refused finance on a couch”