It’s for times like this that I am grateful to have a personal blog, an outlet to record the little moments in my life that manage to annoy and amuse at the same time, they ammoy me.
So here’s the thing.
Barclays Bank tell me I’m a great customer. So good in fact, I’m a ‘Premier’ customer and they invite me to register for their Premier service.
Well I’m all for flattery, they tell me I’m a ‘Premier’ guy then I need that validated with a certificate and a bloody shiny bank card (or other trinket) explaining to others that I’m a Premier chap. After all, there’s very little point my ‘Premier’ status being nothing more than a nod and wink between me and my bank. No. Matter of fact, I’d like them to put a poster up with my face on it at local branches in at least 40 locations to celebrate my Premier status.
So I’m off to register my premiershipness at the Barclays site and I meet with the following:
You see that?
Apparently I don’t know my own surname. In fact, worse and somewhat shockingly, for the past 33 years I’ve been a living a big fat bloody lie – my name, my identity, the thing that I’ve been calling myself for 3 decades is actually ‘invalid’. I have an ‘invalid’ name. My name, me, I, an invalid person. I have no validity to my name. My moniker is not of valid status. I’m far from Premier, I’m actually invalid. Barlcays’ computer told me so.
How will I be able to sign my cheques now?
What about my mailman? Did they think of the mailman? He thinks I’m Ryan O’Meara, not Ryan SyntaxError. He’ll be distraught.
Any way, thanks Barclays. We should acknowledge this landmark point in my life.
PS, Barclays – you might want to break the news of similar invalidity to John O’Shea, Ryan O’Neal and the biggest invalid of all, Dermot O’Leary.