Bank Hostages

Banks are up to no good. So, what’s new? They have something up their sleeve like Rihanna. Remember how she opened the 2023 Super Bowl half time show, swaying from side to side with evil in her eyes? “Hello Arizona.” Or did she say Hi? I don’t remember, but I can never forget those eyes: mischief is coming and arguably the most original mass choreography ever staged.

I’ll take Rihanna any day. She’s an open plan office, not like banks. They are the original cartel. They meet behind closed doors, cut deals with supermarkets, petrol stations and other hawkers to hold my money hostage. Why must they dictate where I buy salmon, tea, rye bread or canola oil? Why must they tell me where to buy gas and yet another kitchen gadget? Well! So that you can get points. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. It’s too early in the week to get me riled up about points, a good example that I’m a bank hostage.

Banks forget it’s my money, so I decide how I spend it. Don’t get me started about having no choice in the matter. The government, employers, partners in crime or business send money to my account. I thought it was $100, but when it’s time to withdraw it, it is $87 because the bank shaved off a percentage for keeping it.

Banks are like the government. They do as they please, no explanation to the masses. I voted, so I can’t complain, but banks? They deprive us of choice. People in so-called free societies do what they want. They have a choice to engage in online activity that leads to young players being found ‘unresponsive’ in their apartments. Husbands have a choice to have or not have mistresses or side chicks. They do, despite all kinds of fatal diseases bubbling about, but we have no choice about our money. Banks are a cartel, but I will not be told where to shop, so that banks can make more money. Who knows, maybe they have shares in these petrol stations and stores.

Nonqaba waka Msimang

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