🤦‍♀️ Reasons why you shouldn't "adult" 🙄


Hey, yo!


What's new with you, dude? My birthday has well and truly passed and I was totallyoverwhelmed by the flood of "Happy Birthday" emails I received. (And so was my email because half of them went into my junk! My email was like "you can't be this popular––this must be some type of scam! Junk it!". I pulled y'all out though so don't fret!.) Now all the frivolities are over I can concentrate on what you're saying. So what are you saying? Talk to me, Sweetpea. (Yes, this in non-gender specific endearment. Yes, I don't have my glasses on again.)


I don't know about you, but every time I have a significate event (like a birthday) I always feel like I should make a concerted effort to be a more responsible adult. Or more of an adult in general. Or actually, just an adult.

This resolution usually lasts a couple of days until I see a pair of flamingo sunglasses or a flashing, musical unicorn phone cover (this is a real thing) and then that resolution disappears for another year. 


But this year, during this brief phase of "I should try to be more responsible" I thought it would be a good idea to separate out my bank accounts. Like, have a writing one and a personal one. For tax reasons and stuff. I don't want the tax man going through my accounts and being like "I see you spent £20 at H&M kids. How many dependants do you have?" and me having to explain, "Oh, no. That was for me. I sometimes wear kid's clothes. It's not weird ... are they tax deductible?".


Annnnnway, so I had this dormant current account that I was going to use for my writing stuff. (Don't ask why it was dormant––I'm sure I had a good reason to stop using it at the time but I can't remember now!). So I thought I'd log in to the online banking and dust the technical cobwebs away. I dug out the pin sentry thing––the ones you use for online banking security (or you can use an app on your phone but you know what I mean, right?). Well, the one I had was long dead so the next day I went into the branch to get a new one and had to show my debit card and driving license before they'd give me one. It wasn't like it was linked to my account or anything so they had to be sure it was me––it was a general device.


And they were really reluctant to let me have one. The guy actually asked me what I was going to use it for. Like, what? I'm going to use it to log on to my internet banking––what do you think I'm going to use it for? It's not like I can call Batman on it or hack into accounts in the Cayman Islands and steal drug dealers' money with it ... unless I can?


I mean, what on earth are people using these things for that they need to be so regulated? Is it in case you lose it so they can keep track of how many you've had? If you've had more than one a year do they blacklist you? Are people selling them on the black market? What's going on here?!


That night I went home and I tried to log onto the online banking system ... but it said I’d locked myself out and I should call the telephone banking line.


So then I called the telephone banking line and it turns out that I'd managed to lock myself out of that too. I finally get through to a human who tells me I need to go back into my oh-so-suspicious-of-people branch to reset the telephone banking passwords to enable me to call the telephone banking line who would then be able to help me reset the internet banking. Yeah. You still with me? Okay.


I went back into the branch and explained the situation. It was the same guy as the day before. He looked at me as though I were some financial criminal mastermind and asked for several types of ID. Several. My debit card for the account, driving licence, another bank card with my name and signature and my passport. My passport! Obviously, I don't walk around with my passport on me. I don't live the type of life where, if I wake up in the morning with a craving for pizza, I can fuel my private jet and nip to Italy for tea. Also, I don't have a jet.


So I go back to the branch the next day with everything they asked for. Another very-suspicious-of-me lady helps me reset the password but only after comparing my driving licence photo to my passport photo for an excruciatingly long minute. Like, I'm not being funny but all the government systems are linked now so the driving licence photo IS the passport photo! Admittedly it's not a great photo ...


Let me explain. I was in the photo booth, the ones that charge £5 for four photos. Anyway, the timer was off (I maintain the timer was off and it wasn't me mistiming the flash) so I was blinking in the first three attempts. On the fourth and final go, I was clenching my teeth and forcing my eyes open, reciting a "don'tblinkdon'tblinkdon'tblink" mantra because I was not paying another £5 for a flippin' passport photo. That's why I look like a crazy person. But I also kinda like it because I think passport photos are meant to be terrible. I've embraced it. (I say this, but I'd 100% forgotten just how bad this picture was until I added it to this email––hot damn! I look like a serial killer! No wonder they were suspicious of me in the bank! I'd be suspicious of me!)


Back on topic. The overly suspicious lady helps me reset the telephone banking password, and I go home. I navigate through all the telephone banking hoops and am feeling very proud of myself by the time I get through to a person. I figure the telephone lady will click a button on her end, reset stuff and I'll be away. But no. Apparently, that's not how life, or modern banking, works.


Several loooong and frustratingly confusing layers of security passwords later and we're done. The lady tells me I'm all set, I should log in as normal and then ends the call. So I try to log in, but it doesn't recognise my password. It doesn't recognise my password!! I take a long breath, make sure CAPS lock isn't on, and re-enter it with extra care. Still wrong. I try for the third time, checking it against the piece of paper I wrote down all the passwords on and then I get a message telling me I've locked myself out and to call the telephone banking service.


After staring at the screen for a long time, I gently close my computer and go downstairs to consume a packet of biscuits with copious amounts of tea. I figure, should the tax man pay me a visit I can just fill him full of biscuits and use Mr Wolf to distract him while he's filling out his forms so he won't notice the extent of my Paperchase addiction or a number of hairpins I buy (I think Boots are selling me disappearing ones––that's the only explanation!). Or I could just pretend I'm not home. I do this a lot. Not with the taxman but if someone knocks and I'm not expecting a parcel, I don't answer the door. You do that, right? It's not just me, right? 


So, in case you were wondering, I've resigned myself to just having the one account. Let the taxman earn his money when/if he comes a-knockin'. And this massive waste of time and brainpower is why you shouldn't try to adult unless forced to.

Yep ... so that's my post birthday life, man. What's up with you?


Speak soon?

Jordaina :)



PS. I have a spare PIN sentry. Who wants it? Bidding starts at £500,000. This might seem steep but I hear you can use them to summon Batman!