White Meat

Six weeks after I arrive I have a haircut so tragic you can see I’m related to my brothers. My new butcher/barber didn’t even hold a mirror up at the end so that I could see how horrible the back looks. He asked if it was ok. I, of course, smiled and said Yes, thankyou very much. I wished I’d hacked at it with a blunt penknife instead.

I went from the salon to the bank where I’ve been trying to open an account. This is my fourth attempt. It’s quite smart, as banks here go, which is why, I think, I chose it. I hate this task, it is more draining than it should be, but it is vital that I complete it. Each time they turn me away, asking for another piece of information. I wish they’d just given me a list on the first visit and punched my face.

I approached not a cashier, but an advisor, as I had the other times. I was the only customer in the branch. I asked if he spoke English. With the sort of froideur you only find in people in glass booths or servants of minor European royalty, he told me to take a number. This isn’t uncommon in Israel, although it hasn’t happened at this bank before. I went to the ticket machine. It had instructions in Hebrew, Arabic, and Russian, none of which I can read. I stared at it for a full minute before leaving.

A week later, at another bank, an easier place to open an account, I wanted to deposit a UK cheque. The man I’d been speaking to told me I had to go upstairs to do this. The man upstairs shook his head and told me to go to a cashier, downstairs, so I went there. After waiting for twenty minutes, she told me to go the the first man I’d spoken to. I returned to him, repeated my request and he said, Yes, I can do that. It’s probably lucky that I’m not a violent man.

It had been damp all day, but the second I was outside the drizzle turned into a deluge. I was drenched in the few seconds it took to scamper to a café. I took my iPad out of my bag and it fell, glass side down, onto the ceramic floor. I now have an iPad with a spider’s web of cracks across its face.

I received a text from someone saying they were my bank in London. It said I’ve successfully changed my address, something I haven’t tried to do. I could only sigh. What a fine day it had been.

My hair will grow back. There are other banks. My iPad can be repaired. My London bank is good at dealing with fraud. I will make friends.

Today’s word: choref – winter – חורף