LULZ 

THE TROLLEY TROLLOP: SKANK OF AMERICA

atm

Dear Bank of America,

Now I realize when I first moved to Boston, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you weren’t exactly clamoring for me to start an account with my measly $16.11 in life savings. But after some intense research, you should know I chose you, and only you, as my bank for one incredibly important reason:

You were within walking distance from my house and the Century Bank that was even closer happened to be closed that Saturday.

And I’ll admit, during these past six months, we’ve had a relatively good relationship. I haven’t overdrawn my account and you haven’t been a dick.

That is, until you decided customers should have to pay a fee for the privilege of access to their own money.

Oh sure, five dollars may not seem like a lot a month. If you’re a Rockefeller. But for the rest of us, that money could go to something much, much more important … like a pint at The Other Side Cafe.

Luckily, you finally came to your senses and scrapped the plan. It was even considerate of you to turn our response of frothing at the mouth and screaming that we’re going to kill your children into “we listened very closely to our customers.”

It’s a small victory for the little guy. But one we desperately needed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but all that hollerin’ you’ve been hearing from the quote, unquote “hippies” with the signs downtown has been about just this kind of crap you tried to pull.

And hey, I get it. You’re looking for extra income. But stop trying to pass the buck (and I mean that quite literally) to us. You’ll just have to do it the old fashion way like the rest of us:

Start stripping on the weekends.

But I swear, if you try sneaking in any more fees, hidden or otherwise, I will switch banks so fast, it’ll make your head spin.

OK, not really. I mean, do you know what a pain in the ass it is to switch everything over? All those online bills and waiting for new checks and changing my Foodler account. Oi.

But I will be drawing some very obscene graffiti involving over-sized phalluses (phalli?) on your ATM’s. In PERMANENT marker.

Love,

Your Broke-Ass Client

About APRILL BRANDON

Freelance writer and columnist (fancy words for pretty much unemployed) and newbie to Boston. In her spare time, when she's not busy being pretty much unemployed, she likes to drink wine and write stalker-ish fan mail to Dave Barry. http://aprillbrandon.com
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