The transformation from useful corner shop to eerily silent bank branch is so fast it's like something from an alien-possession movie. I stepped out of my local shop the other day, remembered I'd forgotten to buy milk, popped back in, and almost signed up for a 30-year Swiss Franc mortgage before I realised it had become a branch of Alior while my back was turned. Everybody is getting in on the banking game: the beggar on the corner offered me a five percent share in his dog, over 20 years, in exchange for a half a cigarette. Of course I accepted and expect to be retiring to Croatia shortly. I'm just waiting for the Jehovah's Witnesses who plague me constantly to start offering a post-Armageddon pension plan.
The names of Poland’s multitude of banks can be perplexing. I’m willing to believe that Millennium Bank might actually be the one-thousandth bank in Poland, but am I supposed to accept that GE Money Bank is the only one that accepts money? I was always tempted to go in there with a sack of potatoes and ask if I could open a vegetable account, just so the cashier would say: “No sir, we are a MONEY bank,” to which I would then reply: “Well you should say so on the sign!” Money Bank seems to have disappeared now, so that’s another one of my ambitions that will never be fulfilled.
Banking seems to be a respected profession in Poland, which is something it has taken me a long time to get used to. Where I come from, admitting you are a banker is about the same as admitting you are a child molester. In England it is legal to hunt bankers with vicious dogs and whips over the Christmas period. Polish bank staff certainly have high standards: I had to sign a document four times once before they were satisfied I knew how to reproduce my own signature—an admirable commitment to tidiness, but a bit of a security worry. I have a much better, if guilty, relationship with Polish cash machines. They always ask me if I want to see a screen in Polish, English or German and I always choose English, even though a line of text asking for your PIN is not the hardest thing to understand. They tempt me to be lazy, and I succumb every time.
I admit I don’t know much about money. As a writer I very rarely see any. I did have some money once and I thought it was very pretty, but it made an unsightly bulge in my trousers so I swapped it for a case of Johnnie Walker Black Label. Despite my lack of experience I feel compelled to open my own bank. I’m going to call it Angol Money Bank. Our adverts will feature drunken men with no trousers running around Poland’s streets offering financial advice to old ladies. We’ll be a sensation. Feel free to start sending deposits of cash or root vegetables now to beat the rush.
Jamie Stokes
