Except maybe we are?
I went to the bank yesterday to send some money to England, which took the usual 40 minutes or so - they appear to have institutional Alzheimers, as it's a calamitous major issue every month when I do this, and it always takes much tut-tutting, consulting of colleagues, staring blankly at computer screens, looking up help screens, asking what IBAN number they need for the UK bank and ignoring my proffered advice that they dont use IBAN numbers, you need to use National ID (which is always the major stumbling block).
Anyway, that wasn't what astonished me - I brought a book and got 3 chapters read while they rotated in ever-decreasing circles.
After that, I asked about talking to someone about a mortgage. Not applying for one, not even asking for pre-approval so we could go house hunting, just an initial discussion. The girl* serving me told me that she wasn't permitted to, and in fact (if I understood her correctly), noone was allowed to until they'd called a special number to check (something) first. And of course she didn't know the number.
I spent another 20 minutes waiting while she tried to find the number, asked her colleagues, and did all the usual useless show of activity without achievement: then I told her not to bother, I'd go try to find someone who could actually talk to me about doing business.
I hadn't realised, Kafka was an optimist.
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