It is often said that some children who suffered from sexual abuse forget that the ordeal ever happened. Their brain conceals those painful memories deep inside their sub-conscious in order to protect them. Most live their whole lives without ever having recollection of the past abuse but for the unlucky few, something happens that brings back all those memories, disrupting their whole equilibrium in the process. I feel like that’s what happened to me today (minus the tragedy).
Two weeks back I withdrew the last amount of cash I had in my bank account, because being broke has been the norm for most of my life, it didn’t register to me that I was dead ass broke or as my one of my favourite rappers, MF Doom would say, broke that a broke dick dog. I pretended like everything’s still okay, as if I wouldn’t have to deal with the emasculating feelings caused by constantly having to ask mommy for some money or worse, asking friends who have managed to take control of their careers and are constantly telling the whole facebook world about how awesome their new jobs are while I’m still in my boxers in the middle of the day aimlessly searching for posts on careerjunction.com . At any rate, I received a cheque in the mail from one of the blog’s advertisers last Friday. As you can imagine, I was elated. I decided to transfer the money into my bank account today because the weather wasn’t cold and miserable like it was the past six days.
Since the branches in the townships don’t offer any type of foreign exchange services, I had to ride a train to town. I bought a single tickets ’cause I figured that if I window shop long enough by the time I decided to come home, the ticket examiners would have already knocked-off and I would get to ride the train for free*. I went to the branch in Melville, Campus Square better known as Sugar-daddies’ paradise. I get to the bank, feeling all cocky ’cause I’m in possession of a cheque in US dollars, it doesn’t matter how little the actual amount is, as long as it’s in Dollars! I get to the teller, tell her what I’m there for and after momentarily looking at me funny she asks where I got the cheque. In an uppity tone, I tell her it’s from one of my advertisers. She asks for my ID book, she wanted to check if my account was in a healthy condition. After finding out that my account is empty, she goes to the next stall to speak to another teller. She comes back and tells me that she’s going to have to send my cheque to head office, apparently it takes three years to recover money in dollars, the bank usually give you the money upfront but since I have no money in my account they wouldn’t have any way of recovering their money in the event that the cheque bounces. Basically I was too broke to cash a US dollar cheque. She asked me if I still wanted to cash in that cheque, I said yes and she gave me a couple of forms to fill. She told me that if head office deems my broke ass unworthy of getting some ka-ching, the money won’t be transferred and if by Monday the money hasn’t been transferred, I should come back and collect the cheque. Whatever mechanism my brain devised to prevent me from seeing just how bad my finances are, ceased to function at that very moment. My mind was opened and I was reminded just how broke I really am.
Update (30/04/10 11h05 CAT): The bank just called to inform me that head office will not process my cheque.
*I’m not condoning illegally riding trains, Unless you’re in the mood for some beat down, don’t try doing what I was trying to do here.