Lost Yesterday, going from the Naked Boy next Door to the East India Warehouses, and thro’ Fenchurch Buildings, up Leadenhall-street to Birchin Lane, and so to Lombard-street, to Sir Charles Asgill and Co. a Bill for Ten Pounds, drawn by Holden on Mess. Holden’s, wrote on the Back payable at Sir Ch. Asgill’s and Co. last Indorsers Mess. Brassey, Lee and Co.
Whoever will bring the said Bill to the Naked Boy as above, shall receive Ten Shillings Reward. No greater Reward will be offered.
From what I can tell, the Naked Boy they’re referring to is now known as the Golden Boy. Wikipedia says of him:
The Golden Boy of Pye Corner is a small monument located on the corner of Giltspur Street and Cock Lane in Smithfield, central London. It marks the spot where the 1666 Great Fire of London was stopped. The statue is made of wood and is covered with gold. The building which incorporates it is a Grade II listed building.
It bears the following small inscription below it:
“This Boy is in Memmory Put up for the late FIRE of LONDON Occasion’d by the Sin of Gluttony.”
(That inscription is a bit of a pun - sin of gluttony - playing on the fact that the great fire began in Pudding Lane and ended at Pye Corner.)
So I work at a bank in the fraud department. Today I was working outbound cases and a case pulled up that had a strange transaction on it. I clicked the number to dial out and while the phone was winging I did a bit of research into the spending history of the account. The card holder picked up and this is what happened
Me (me) card holder (ch)
(Me) Hello this is me from (bank) fraud department I’m calling for… Looks at name on account for first time … Uhh, Brain Doe?
Ch: ya hi no my name is actually Brian
Me: oh I’m sorry the account is for someone named Brain. (Pronouncing like the organ in your skull)
Ch: ya I know they typed it in wrong when I first opened my account. I didn’t even notice until I went to McDonald’s like 6 months later, and the cashier was like ’… Is your name really Brain?’ I was like what the fuck are you talking about and then I looked at my card and was like what the fuck (bank)?
Me: oh i understand sir
Ch: ya I guess it really is just a fraction of a second from actually typing my name but I’ve been dealing with it ever since.
Me: ok well since it was clearly a mistake I’ll speak to you on this account. Did you just make a purchase for ~ $450 through a Crocs shoe store?
Ch: oh yeah that was me.
Me: Flabbergasted that Crocs still exist and they have a dedicated store oh… Ok I’ll go ahead and let our system know everything is ok. Thanks for choosing (bank) have a great weekend.
Ch: no worries you too.
I hang up and now and still I am stunned that people are still willing to spend that much money on fucking Crocs.
It’s the little things that make this job bearable.
Rich rubbed his wrists, sore from his pulling and tugging. He hadn’t taken kindly to waking up bound, and he had rattled and tugged and writhed against his bounds like a snake. But it had been no use. His racing thoughts had brought up no viable solution to his simmering panic, just below the surface, and he had had to slump, shake his own hair from his eyes, and glare, jaw tight, as The Assistant left.
He thought for a long time. A long time. Staring at nothing in particular and rubbing his wrists absentmindedly, Rich was uncharacteristically quiet and somber- his grin was wiped from his face, replaced with a look of quiet frustration, and if people could read it, fear.
Was this a hostage situation? Or was it a training exercise, or a prank? Whatever it was, Rich didn’t like his powerlessness. He tried to calm himself, with the thought that he was simply too important to hurt without serious consequences. It helped for just a second, until Rich realized that whoever would think to protect him or avenge him… was home on Earth.
He hated the thought. He couldn’t be alone, beyond protection or aid. He couldn’t be alone in this. With a shaky sharp inhale, Rich forced the thought from his head- his isolation from Earth was an issue for later. Change the subject, distract himself, maybe if he ignores the problem he can think of something he can actually do later.
“This is… a very sick joke, don’t you think?” Rich said, with a brief and uncomfortable smile. He was still rubbing his wrists. “The whole binding us to chairs thing was really too much.”
Still smiling? Well, even if the circumstances had changed, Rich’s character didn’t.