Unperson.

There is a moment in Nineteen Eighty-Four when Syme disappears.  As a person is found foul by Big Brother and INGSOC, they evaporate.  They are no more. “Syme was not only dead, he was abolished, an unperson.”  An unperson – a beautifully sinister word.  It described me, earlier this week.  I tried to open a bank account.  This led to me feeling a way I would have rather not have felt.

I’ve been out of the country for just over a decade.  I had an account with a bank in the UK up until a few years ago.  For one reason and another, I came off that account and left the British banking grid.  Trying to get back on proved a tad difficult.

I thought this was going to be one of the simpler steps to take to get back into the world of the Britland.  I had an account with a bank here, no problems arisen, and I’ve had an account in NZ since before I arrived there, no problems arisen.  I was quietly looking forward to going into a bank, answering a few questions and walking out with an account in the pipeline and the next step of my reintegration in train.  In fact when the cheery voice on the phone informed me that the meeting to set up the account would take an hour and a half, at least, I was a little taken aback.  An hour and a half to answer a few questions and to have an account in the pipeline and the next step of my reintegration in train!? Well, ok.

The appointment started well.  Introductions and “So, you want to open an account…?” were navigated, the full explanation of the various accounts on offer were ticked off, and then the nitty gritty of the questions you have to answer to have a bank account were asked.  They were answered.  The data was input.  The computer said no – I understand this is close to a catchphrase, and not one I would usually lean towards but, such was my loss of froid that is sang all known catchphrases rattled round my head.

Powerlessness is a curious sensation.  In particular, it is a peculiar sensation in a situation where at no time did I think I would be made to feel in such a way.  I did that Google thing and synonymed “powerless”.  “Impotent, helpless, without power, ineffectual, inadequate, ineffective, with no say, useless, defenceless, vulnerable, weak, feeble, paralysed.”  Quite the list of words and phrases, eh?  Of these words, a few are more affecting than others.

Ineffectual – it seemingly highlighted how ephemeral and pointless my efforts to date to live a life and earn a crust were…are.

Vulnerable and weak – there was no comeback.  The reasons given were so beautifully vague that my mind raced - the computer just said no. What could I have possibly overlooked about my past, my financial history and situation that would give raise to a negative from the computer analysing me and deciding whether I was worthwhile?  All the insecurities that plague a person were amplified in the moment.  Knowing that I was about to walk out of the bank and back into a day, full of people being people and expecting me to people too, brought the final word on the list to the fore.

Paralysed – both in the sense that I couldn’t, didn’t want to move but, and – incredibly, as in that instant as the whole value of my very existence became questioned – the sense that my life could not move.  The move from NZ to UK had frozen.  A parlous and perilous position.  Entirely unjustified and an over-reaction but, money and the Welsh working class have an odd relationship, you may understand.

The bank employee said she would look into it for me.  The sun shone, in a washed out winter way.  People peopled.  I felt somewhat forlorn and frustrated for the rest of the day: my alien status reinforced by the whole episode. Having had only myself to rely on of late, I was now adrift and reliant on others: helpless.  It is not a feeling I wish on anyone.

*

She looked into it. 

Unutterably grateful.