There are many good things when you live in the
E.U., and there are a few idiotic things.
Today's topic is: bankers and their arrogance
(and irremediable stupidity).
I've had three banks in my life. Let's use no
name, and just call them 1, 2 and 3.
Bank #1 became my bank as soon as I came of
age.
It was Mother's bank (as well, it was down my
street and that was very useful).
Things began going south when I gave them a
cheque and they credited it... on Mother's account. I sent a scathing letter to
the director, and he apologized (I still have that letter somewhere; perhaps I
should frame it and display it proudly).
Things went from bad to worse, and I went to
Bank #2, but… I never closed my account at Bank #1 (I left about £4 on
it).
Bank #2 is still my main bank. At one point, I
had a lot of hourly paid classes, and I saved a bit of money (I saved
enough to not quiver with fear now that I’m down to one teaching job
with few hours. However, I’m not worth abducting – except if you take books as
a currency). So, since my main account is never in the red, and I’ve got a few
pennies on a kind of savings account, my bank advisor is blissfully leaving me
alone (that’s going to be important in a few paragraphs).
Not wanting to keep all my eggs in the same
basket, I opened a third account in Bank #3. This one had a bank advisor who
promised me that he’d do some trick, bank thingy, magic, book cooking or I
don’t know what (and I don’t care what!) so that I’d never pay the bank fee to
manage my account (it’s one of my principles: I leave my hard-won money in
banks so they can make some profit by lending it to people who need it, but I
don’t pay them for the “privilege” of having an account with them. I’m no
frelling sheeple).
Three things happened at Bank #3. First, they
treated my mother, who had an account there, too, as if she had the plague for
daring to ask her advisor to be polite, then (according to some E.U. new thingy
to make sheeple think that the states a looking for, and hunting, terrorists
and criminals) they asked me to give proof of my identity (you know, that thing I’d done
when I opened the account three years earlier), and I was told that I’d have to
pay some fee for my account management. I closed that account at the speed of light, after some
rock’n’roll adventures: the gal I had on the phone told me to write a letter
and come give it to my advisor.
I met that advisor for the first time the day I
closed my account. She was, it may be said, charming; all the more since her
colleague had forgotten to give me half the info I needed! She did her best,
and that account has been closed since last August. Since that account was a
bit like a piggybank with a real safe, I transferred the money to… Bank #1
(where I’ve been, I remind you, since I came of age, and that wasn’t
five years ago).
And now, for the list of lies and proof of
incompetence:
Four years ago, Bank #2 sent me some bumph in
order to give proof of my identity, tell them where I work, and other personal stuff
(you’d think that the wages sent to my account would be a clue). I never
answered, and since it was back when I had three decent jobs, you bet that my
advisor left me alone.
I’m neither a terrorist, nor a criminal, and a
quick look at my account will tell you that.
Four years ago, Bank #1, with my £4 on my
dormant account, didn’t send me anything. No sign of life from them.
With £4, we’ll say that it might have been logical.
Was it?
No.
There’s about £200 on that account now, and my
brand new advisor would like to meet me (to get the E.U. thingy info, I bet). I
was the one who had to contact her. Perhaps she’s being slaved and has
thousands of accounts to manage (not a clue, and I seriously do not
care), but I’m a bit shocked that an account being used again after so many
years didn’t raise a single flag. Cherry on the cake: I’ve been too unwell to
contact her for a third time, but she’s not bothered at all, and I
haven’t heard from her (then again, with £200, I’m probably just barely plankton
in her ocean).
Another branch of Bank #1 (Mother’s) has lost
the mandate I signed to be allowed to operate her account last year, and the
director is trying to pretend that I never signed the bloody thing – he also
tried to say that it might be because I didn’t give proof of my identity that the paper
wasn’t archived (he never asked me to give proof of my identity in any
way, and I’m so going to read him the Riot Act on the phone if he keeps pretending
that he did or that I didn’t sign the proper papers).
They just all love bumph (and they love to lose
it!).
I was also shocked when I had to give my
signature again at Bank #1. Explanation: they didn’t have it on computer
(apparently, they’ve been eating the papers I gave them and the things I signed
when I opened that account). In consequence, and because of the stupidity at
the other branch, I’m going to have to check that they haven’t lost my mother’s
mandate on my account…
It’s very cute to make sheeple believe that the
1984 adaptation is to fight terrorism and crime when it’s really to
control people. Those people (terrorists and criminals) don’t use banks that bother
them; they use banks that as long as you’ve got the references to an account
allow you to deposit cash in vast amounts (Switzerland, Cayman Islands, places like that…). In fact, a few
E.U. banks were caught red-handed asking too personal questions to clients.
Why? In order to sell lists of info to commercial partners and/or to invite
sheeple to the bank and have them invest money in bank-ish stuff. It’d be so
nice if they didn’t take us for nuts (then again, if we consider the number of
sheeple and the number of people who are too afraid to yell at them, they’d be
silly to be bothered).
One last cherry on the icing on that particular
cake? I just got a letter from Bank #3 (the one where I closed my account last
August).
Are you with me? Someone there tried to charge
my dead account for some current running costs. My former advisor caught it and
rectified the BLUNDER, but it meant that a balance had to be sent to me.
Guess who’s going to phone her former advisor in order to ask her to whom she
should read the Riot Act… Yep! First thing on Tuesday after I’m caffeinated (I
wouldn’t want to yell at the poor gal).
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an e-mail to
send to the lazy Bank #1 advisor in order to check that her branch isn’t
completely managed by incompetents (yea, I know… I’m too optimistic).
