Banks.

Due to upcoming Halloween craziness, and an increase in my work hours, I've had the past two days off. Yesterday, I decided to go in search of a bank account. "Search" is probably not quite the right word, given the fact that there are seven banks on every block in Spain. I think the number of banks in this country may even rival the number of pharmacies in Chile. The confusing part, then, becomes which bank. Katharina had told me that Santander was one of few well-known banks that doesn't charge a quarterly fee for the privilege of letting them poorly lend out your money. Given that I have very little money to begin with, this seemed like a good idea. When I arrived at the bank, I was greeted by Santander's version of the TSA air-puffing chambers that are relatively new additions to airport security. There was a cylindrical portal I had to buzz my way into, and then I was sealed inside while I awaited permission to exit and enter the bank. Unfortunately, Santander didn't want me to enter. Three times in a row a Spanish recording came on to inform me that I had to turn around and step outside. I stepped out and, looking quizically at the contraption, let two women go ahead of me. They were both allowed to enter the bank. I tried again; the chamber told me no. Finally, I took my folded up umbrella out of my backpack, set it by the door, and tried again. The voice rejected me again, but a man standing behind me told me to stay inside; I waited a second, and then the door to the bank opened. It was very bizarre.

After waiting for a surprisingly short ten minutes or so, I sat down at a woman's desk to open my bank account. I sat there, staring at her computer screen, as she slowly and painfully typed and then retyped my information, not seeming to care about the veracity of certain details (such as whether or not I was a man, and whether I was separated or divorced), as she chatted on the phone with a friend. I grimaced a bit, and tried to point things out when they seemed a little too important to get wrong, but mostly I just sat there, not sure of what to do. When I went back this morning with my original passport in tow, she was once again on the phone with her friend, continuing to talk even as she told me where to sign my name.

I managed to get myself out of the cylindrical tube with a freshly minted pin number for my enroute atm card. Tonight, when I turned on the BBC, I found out that Santander is forecasted to go through some rough times. Awesome.