In nineties my country had a change of currency. A considerable amount of old money
was changed for one unit of the new. For some time both were used, then the old
money was withdrawn.
Soon after that had finished I arrived at the capital of a small yet respectable
European country. I had neglected to change money on the ship but was expecting
that it would be easy in the city. The city has a famous main street which I was
keen to visit and there I found a bank. Right to a large multistore shop with
a proud information that they are royal purveyors.
Boy, what a place... I was enticed.
I humbly went into the bank and asked to change money. The guy over there looked
suspiciously at the note I gave him, sat at a computer and started to pore over it,
comparing with my note.
After several minutes he decided that my note belonged to the old currency.
and as such is was no longed legal. He returned it to me with a contemptuous
gesture of throwing on the table. Then he repeated the gesture. I took my note,
went with it to a tiny exchange desk in the same street and got the local money
Contrary to the bloke from the pompous bank, the exchange clerk just knew the money,
also from my not so distant country.