The night before coming to Sicily, our former landlord gave us back our apartment deposit and also bought the furniture that we left behind. So we end up with approximately 2,000 Pounds in cash in our pockets that we needed to exchange in Euros.
Our first attempt was at the airport where the girl working behind the counter thought we are stupid tourists and wanted to charge us 5 euro fee plus 15% commission. When she saw that the trick won’t work, she said she would reduce it to 10% out of benevolence. As all the Italians that I have encountered until now, she did not speak even a gram of English, but from the look in her eyes I know she understood what I thought of her out loud. I said I have no time for bullshit and that I would just go to the bank and exchange it for no commission, and she even had the guts to lie and try to convince us that the bank would charge us the same commission. She really thought that we were that stupid. She’s from the breed of people that I hate the most – the one that is really ignorant, yet they think they know better than anyone.
The next was even more eventful when we went to the bank. My initial intention was to go around and see what the exchange rates were in all 3 (yes, all three!) banks and choose the best one. Well, my plan did not turn out that well.
At 10 am we were at the bank. We entered through this futuristic cabin-door, which scans your face and takes good 5 minutes to let you through. This was the first and last touch of technology available in the bank. We entered inside and I went around looking for the exchange rate screen. Nothing visible, actually absolutely nothing was hanging on the walls. There was only a big plasma TV, supposedly the camera security screen but instead of showing different views of the bank floor, it was broadcasting the face of the security card, who was sitting on his desk and taking calls. I am not sure what the purpose of this TV was, I just let you guess yourselves.
The bank floor was very small, with only two desks operating. The people at the desks were also taking the incoming calls. There were another 2 or three desks behind a window with people walking in and out, trying to look busy. A little crowd of pensioners was sitting on the waiting chairs and reading newspapers.
My husband and his brother then went around to ask for the exchange rate. They asked one lady who did not know anything nor was willing to help. Then they went and asked quickly at the desk – a very slow talking lady replied to ask at the desks behind the window screen. They went back and asked another person again and this time they were told that there is a lady who knows! Halleluiah! So, it was left for us to wait until she arrives. In less than 20 minutes a lady with a victorious smile came to us carrying a print-out with the exchange rates with the same dignity she would have carried the Holy Grail. There was no commission, just a 5 euro fee for the exchange. So, we decided to seal the deal and it was then when the next shock arrived.
In the bank and in any other public service building, Italians (I am not sure if I should write Sicilians because I have my suspicions that this state of affairs is more attributable to the south of Italy)have a waiting list – one picks up a numbered ticket from a machine and waits until the number is called. I was told in busy places, like the post office, there is always a guy (a bummer) who trades with those tickets. I could not yet grasp the idea why would anyone do that but everything became clear when we saw the number of our ticket. It was number 57. The screen was showing 32. I asked “How long it would take, approximately?” My brother-in-law replied in a very normal tone “Maybe around 2 hours.” The lady behind the desk was scratching her head assiduously.
“Let’s go drink coffee then,” I suggested. And guess what – there is a coffee shop next door diligently serving all the people waiting for their turn at the bank. We sat, drank coffee, talked for approximately 1 hour. We even witnessed the bank teller come for a shot of espresso and cigarette. For a smoke break, not for lunch, I want to make clear. At some point, we decided to go back. The screen was showing number 47.
After another 20-30 minutes, our turn came! A smart pensioner tried to take our turn. It didn’t work out and she walked away with a grimace. I passed the money to the lady, who was working with the speed of a handicapped turtle. She looked at them, one by one. It took her approximately 10 minutes. I was just standing and staring in amazement. She then started counting them. She counted them 3 times so slowly I almost managed to learn the serial numbers by heart on all of the bank notes. She did not use a machine, neither any sort of security check – scanner, pen, etc – that any other bank would use. She counted them one more time by hand, then went away to print few sheets, leaving the notes on the desk completely unprotected. Another 10-15 minutes of paper work followed – signatures, scans, final count, etc.
It was 1.30 pm when we left the bank. It took us 3 hours to exchange few pounds. What if you would like to use some more complicated service?
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