Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 30God, this is really stressful.
“Try my number for my bicycle lock,” suggests Suze. “It’s 435.”
“Suze — I need my number. Not yours.”
“You might have chosen the same! You never know!”
“Please key in—”
“All right!” I yell, and punch in 435.
“I’m sorry,” intones the voice. “This password is invalid.”
“I knew it wouldn’t work!”
“It might have done!” says Suze defensively.
“It should be four digits, anyway,” I say, having a sudden flash of memory. “I had to phone up and register it… and I was standing in the kitchen… and… yes! Yes! I’d just got my new Karen Millen shoes, and I was looking at the price tag… and that was the number I used!”
“How much were they?” says Suze in excitement.
“They were… £120 reduced to… to £84.99!”
Excitedly I punch in 8499—and to my disbelief, the voice says, “Thank you! You are through to the Endwich Banking Corporation. Endwich — because we care. For debt control, press one. For mortgage arrears, press two. For overdrafts and bank charges, press three. For…’’
“Right! I’m through.” I exhale sharply, feeling a bit like James Bond breaking the code to save the world. “Am I debt control? Or overdrafts and bank charges?”
“Overdrafts and bank charges,” says Suze knowledgeably.
“OK.” I press three and a moment later a cheerful singsong voice greets me.
“Hello! Welcome to the Endwich Central Call Center. I’m Dawna, how can I help you, Miss Bloomwood?’’
“Oh, hi!” I say, taken aback. “Are you real?”
“Yes!” says Dawna, and laughs. “I’m real. Can I help you?”
“Erm… yes. I’m phoning because I need an extension to my overdraft. A few hundred pounds if that’s all right. Or, you know, more, if you’ve got it…”
“I see,” says Dawna pleasantly. “Was there a specific reason? Or just a general need?”
She sounds so nice and friendly, I feel myself start to relax.
“Well, the thing is, I’ve had to invest quite a bit in my career recently, and a few bills have come in, and kind of… taken me by surprise.”
“I mean, it’s not as if I’m in trouble. It’s just a temporary thing.”
“A temporary thing,” she echoes, and I hear her typing in the background.
“I suppose I have been letting things mount up a bit. But the thing was, I paid everything off! I thought I’d be able to relax for a bit!”
“Oh right.”
“So you understand?” I give a relieved beam to Suze, who offers me thumbs-up in return. This is more like it. Just one quick and easy call, like in the adverts. No nasty letters, no tricky questions…
“I completely understand,” Dawna’s saying. “It happens to us all, doesn’t it?”
“So — can I have the overdraft?” I say joyfully.
“Oh, I’m not authorized to extend your overdraft by more than £50,” says Dawna in surprise. “You’ll have to get in touch with your branch overdraft facilities director. Who is a… let me see… Fulham… a Mr. John Gavin.”
I stare at the phone in dismay.
“But I’ve already written to him!”
“Well, that’s all right, then, isn’t it? Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”
I put down the phone disconsolately.
“Stupid bank. Stupid call center.”
“So are they going to give you the money?” asks Suze.
“I don’t know. It all depends on this John Gavin bloke.” I look up and see Suze’s anxious face. “But I’m sure he’ll say yes,” I add hastily. “He’s just got to review my file. It’ll be fine!”
“I suppose if you just don’t spend anything for a while, you’ll easily get back on track, won’t you?” she says hopefully. “I mean, you’re making loads of money from the telly, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say after a pause, not liking to tell her that after rent, taxi fares, meals out, and outfits for the show, it doesn’t actually amount to that much.
“And there’s your book, too…”
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