And I thought online was meant to make it easier

Igood friend Betty. “Yes,” she said tactfully. We South Africans are known for tenacity so I returned to my bank. I waited in a line for 45 minutes. The young man who had previously advised me was nowhere to be seen.

“I will walk you through the procedure on the bank’s computer in the corner,” said another teller.

It took another half an hour before the computer was free.

Finally, I was logged on with a username, password and somewhat incomprehensible instructions for a first-time user were explained in single syllables. I wrote everything down. “You should serve tea or coffee,” I muttered to the chap assisting me.

“A good strong shot of whisky thrown in would help things,” growled the customer in the queue behind me. “Bloody complicated.”

I departed confident that I would soon be banking online. and on the phone, allegorically, she held my hand. No matter that I paid R50 for the pleasure. It was a snip at the price.

I parted with Lerato and attempted to proceed alone. Blocked. According to one of the many people I spoke to on the phone, each time there’s a glitch, you have to start from the beginning and type in the bank’s url all over again.

To date, I am in but struggling (something to do with reference codes).

My cheque book is en route to Kamchatka; I am camping at the ATM machine to pay by cash.

And the finale? I received an e-mail from this bank that spends millions in advertising on its clients that read: “Love your finances.” “Spread your love,” it said. “We’d like to make your February financially stress-free.”

And I’m going back to hiding money under my mattress.