Dave the Zombie…at the bank

October 21, 2010
Dave the zombie was a bit annoyed after his experiences at the supermarket (see here https://simonscotland.wordpress.com/2010/10/14/dave-the-zombie-at-the-supermarket/) and thought he would visit the bank to get his account sorted.

He stepped towards the automatic door at the entrance of the bank.


Dave the zombie walked straight into it. The glass doors had failed to open and now had a Dave the zombie shaped splat on it. The putrid green glistened slightly in the sunlight but the doors remained firmly closed. Dave the zombie looked for a manual override but he had just started peering around the entrance when the doors suddenly opened to let out a customer. Dave the zombie rushed in.


Dave the zombie was no longer as quick on his feet as he once was and now he had to manage with one less as the door closed, leaving his left foot outside. Dave the zombie looked at the queue. Only one bank position was open and the person being served was a little old lady who had decided that this would be the day in which she would bring her coin jars to the bank and make a deposit. Rather than wait for her to finish and subsequently leave, opening the door for Dave the zombie to retrieve his foot, he decided to join the queue.

Dave the zombie was unsure as to whether the passing of time was any less relative now he was undead, but it did seem like an eternity before he was finally served.

“gragghhh wraaaaghhh fraghhhhh waggggghhhh” he said meaning I seem to have a problem with my bank card.

Dave the zombie passed his card to the bank teller who swiped the card and asked Dave the zombie to input his PIN.

Dave pressed the keypad but as he hit the third number his finger gave a loud crack as it snapped in half. Dave the zombie wrenched it free and poked the keypad with it before working to reattach it to his hand. Not having any sellotape with him, Dave the zombie took out a piece of gum, chewed on it for a few moments before removing it and using it to stick hand and finger together. Three teeth came out during the process.

“I’m afraid there is a problem with your card” said the teller.

“spphassss srhhsssss ishhhsgsss” replied Dave the zombie meaning I know, that’s what I’ve just told you.

The bank teller picked up the telephone that was part of her work station and called for the manager.

Dave the zombie stepped aside as he waited for the manager to appear. During that time he worked the teeth free from the gum and pushed them back into his mouth. He was wondering if he had replaced them in the correct places when the manager walked towards him.

“If you would care to walk this way, I will see what we can do to solve your problem.”

Dave the zombie followed the manager, hopping into an interview room and sat down on the chair provided.

“I’m afraid that the card you tried to use belongs to someone who is now deceased” said the manager.

“grapppphhhhh srrrsrssaaggghh” said Dave the zombie, meaning that’s right.

“You can’t go around using a deceased person’s card” said the bank manager in what he hoped was a calming tone.

“buggghhhh ccrrrrrggggghhd bbbbbbelllllggg mrrrrrrgghgh” said Dave the zombie meaning but the card belongs to me.

“I’m afraid all the funds in that account are frozen until the will has been sorted out.

“burrrgghhhhg wrrrrrghhhhhhhttt wrrrrrrrghghghghl” meaning but I didn’t write a will.

“That’s not, if you’ll pardon me for saying, my problem, I cannot give you any money from this account.”

“Buuuuurrrrrrhghhg mrgghhhhgghh mmmmmmoooogghhhhhnnnnggghh” said Dave the zombie, meaning but it’s MY money.

“Now, if that’s all, please can you leave? If you want to access the money in this account, you will need proof of ID.”

Dave the zombie handed the bank manager a piece of paper.

“But this is a death certificate.”

Dave rolled his eyeballs but as they were milky white, the look of sarcasm was lost on the bank manager.

The bank manager stood up and tried to get Dave the zombie to do likewise. Dave stumbled, as he was no longer a balanced biped and slipped against the desk. A pen and chain fell onto the floor causing the manager to fall as he was attempting to leave the room. Dave the zombie could contain his frustration no longer. He feasted on the bank managers brain, fished out his wallet and removed the cash and then carefully counted it before writing a cheque for the exact amount and left.

He managed to get out of the bank without too much difficulty and hopped to where his foot lay.

Dave the zombie reasoned that a dog must have passed by while he was inside the bank and pondered to himself if the old superstition worked in reverse. Was his luck about to change for the better?


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