Impersonal banking

April 10, 2013 at 4:43 am | Posted in Business | Leave a comment
Tags: , , , , , , ,
Mmm buzz click.

Mmmm. Buzz click …

Bank bashing is easy, unproductive and old hat. Therefore, let me say this: if I lent hundreds of thousands of dollars to a virtual stranger so he could buy a home, run a business and do up his kitchen, I’d certainly expect to hold the whip hand.

Though it concerns banking, this post is about promises.

Many years ago, I left one big bank to protest bad service. The new big bank was better. When I got my line of credit, I was told I had a Personal Banker.

To prove it, I was sent a card with the name and contact details of a live human being.

I was highly sceptical. But once I started dealing with Sally*, my faith was renewed.

Sally answered my calls, replied to my emails, explained things clearly and strove to make good things happen fast.

As I wrote in her Christmas card [!] ‘You have single-handedly restored my faith in banks.’

When Sally was promoted to a bigger branch, I had my accounts transferred to be near her. Through the trials of recession and renovation, she was there: calming, helping, advising.

Then she got headhunted by a smaller bank.

Devastated, I tracked her down to see if I could switch banks. Alas, she’d also changed division and role.

That night, the concrete path to Empire House inexplicably cracked^.

My bank assigned me to a new Personal Banker, who promptly broke several limbs playing football and never regained focus.

My next Personal Banker moved overseas before we could meet.

My next Personal Banker changed branches, but wasn’t worth following.

My next Personal Banker was literally impossible to contact. I had to appeal his poor performance via online banking.

His replacement (my next Personal Banker) spoke to me twice before handballing me to her assistant for ‘personal reasons’.

In one of these exchanges, she advised that my request for a lower interest rate had been turned down by ‘the bank’.

I managed to get her email address, as I wished to posit that for my purposes, she was ‘the bank’. She hasn’t replied.

Finally, I asked her underling if it’d help to transfer my accounts to head office, just in case it was ‘the bank’.

He said no.

How I wish my bank had never put the idea of ‘personal banking’ into my head.

Because of this promise, I now suffer the sting of betrayal.

Would that I could regain the mistrust which once cocooned me from constant disappointment.

Come to think of it,

I’m almost there.


* Not her real name.

^ Not really; the neighbour’s tree fell on it during pruning.

Brought to you by The Feisty Empire.

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