Martin's Place

I arrived at a pedestrianised street called Martin’s Place, It looked like a normal street from the map but it was a steep downhill boulevard of marble and massive buildings.  It seemed all of Australia’s banks have a ridiculously big and expensive looking buildings on Martin’s Place.  The bank I was going to was slightly different, instead of a massive glass skyscraper they had a huge grand looking building made of giant bricks and columns.

This photo doesn't do Martin's Place justice, all around me are huge builds

Are those columns just for show?

The inside of the building was just as grand as the outside, the inside was a huge open space of decorated columns and Victorian no expensive spared styling.  The marbles floors were as clean and shiny as a surgeon’s scalpel.  I learnt that the building is classed as an important heritage building and is at the same level as The White House.  Unfortunately this being the inside of a bank photography was not permitted. 
Seeing a bank with such a grand building made me slightly worried when I was giving them all my money to look after.  Were they going to look after my money or just spend it on polishing up their priceless marble floors?
I opened and transferred money into the account in the UK but I had to have an appointment with my new bank account advisor to verify my identity and to proof that I actually existed, only then would my account be unlocked.
My bank advisor was a very friendly woman, she felt more like a friendly old neighbour than someone who worked in a bank.  Although she did push a sale or two on me during the appointment.  She said that when my parents move to Australia they should open up a bank account with her.  I found it funny that she already knew more about my parent’s future plans than I do.  She also pushed for me to take out home insurance and she did the classic old salesperson trick of turning a large sum of money into a small one by saying “well it is only a few dollars a day”.  But who could blame her?  At the end of the day she was a business woman, and a very friendly one.
Everything was going great until she tried to send me a confirmation message to my mobile.  My phone had no signal when it should have had signal.  So I turned it off and on again and laid it down on the desk to boot up.  When my phone boots up a welcome message is displayed, now this would normally be fine but the welcome message on my phone is very offensive.  I must have been messing around with my phone settings one evening many years ago and I thought it would be funny to change the welcome message.  Instead of saying “Welcome” or “Hello” my phones says “Fuck you”.  I only remembered this after we were both watching my phone boot up and the offensive message came up.  I quickly grabbed my phone and said “uh, hold on, let me just check if that message has come through”.  I am not sure if she read the message, but she was still happy and friendly like before, despite being told to fuck off by my mobile phone.
After I left the bank I headed back to the hostel.  I had a great morning, and I felt like I had judged everything too quickly.  The hostel made sense now, it was just a place to sleep, eat and wash.  It was just a base for me to go out and live in this amazing city.

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