Cursed Tongue: Bank Wankers

Posted by CursedTongue on October 22, 2006

Closing a bank account should be a simple matter. In the midst of a whirlwind move, we kept our bank account open, even though we knew there would be no branches near our new home. It wouldn’t have taken long to stop in and get a cashier’s check before we left.

But it seemed wiser to have a bank while we traveled. After all, this is the Digital Era. Age of ease and comfort. Where we can pay bills armed with only an Internet connection. In retrospect, getting a cashier’s check and doubting the achievements of the Digital Era is exactly what we should have done.

After three frantic days of looking for an apartment, and waiting in line at the Social Security Administration for five hours to prove that I really was born in the year that my Social Security Card said I was, and not in 1972, as alleged by the background check that the apartment had run on potential renters. Finally, we were deemed acceptable tenants and asked for the first month’s rent.

As I wrote out the check, the Rental Monkey (who knew the addresses of the last five places we lived) had the audacity to ask if our bank was local. A look of pure mortification and despair froze my face and needles of searing pain shot into my forehead.

I recovered and spoke through gritted teeth, “We would have been able to look for a local bank, if we hadn’t wasted a day sitting next to a fragrant drunk in a dingy wife-beater at the Social Security Administration. You have our credit history, our social security numbers, our background checks and five pints of blood each. We don’t have any children to use as collateral. What more could you possibly need?” They agreed to take our check.

When we finally opened a checking account at a local bank, I called our old bank to break up with them. I was connected with Customer Service Turnip, James, and I could tell from his accent that he was a native of the area where the main branch of the bank was located, in Chicagoland. If there had been any doubt of his origin he would have eventually revealed that he was a native of the U.S., because he didn’t give a badger’s butt feathers about customer service.

James doggedly claimed that I would have to walk into an actual, physical, branch office of the bank to close my account. I even played the, “I know you’re too lazy/stupid/incompetent to put some brain power into doing your job so I’ll spell out the obstacles until you come up with a solution,” game, and still a visit in person was the only way to rescue my money. The closest branch was in Colorado. The amount remaining in my account would probably have just about covered the trip.

I knew from that it must be possible to close accounts long-distance, and that there must be a way, but James was content to irritate me, and continue to exist in his elective vegetative state. After I hung up and I immediately called back. One of the miracles of modern customer service is never getting the same incompetent moron twice. I was not about to let my bank pout over her Vanilla Fudge Ripple, and keep my stuff at her place. Delores answered and she, Customer Service Goddess, knew the answer to my dilemma without having to read it off of a screen. I had to send a notarized letter to the bank. I could do that.

It turns out that my old bank ignores any notarized break-up letter not sent by Certified Mail, even if you call and threaten the bank manager with karmically contracted gonorrhea. Two notarized letters and several eye-twitch inducing phone calls later, the bank manager agreed to send me a check.

Depositing a check into an existing account should be even simpler. I called the nearest branch of our new bank and spoke with Jr. Bank Monkey Jayden about the impending check, which I was having the old bank send directly to them. He told me to have them address it to his attention and assured me that he would deposit it into the account as soon as it arrived. A few days passed and the money did not show up in the account. My rejected, psycho, ex-bank claimed that the check was in the mail. I called my new bank and asked to speak to Jayden. It seemed that Jayden transferred to Albuquerque, but luckily, Jr. Bank Monkey Hayden would be able to help me.

Of course, I was sick with worry at the thought that my money had taken a vacation to New Mexico without me. But I was assured by Hayden that there was absolutely no way anyone would have forwarded it. Ten business days passed since the check was mailed. I called my new bank back. I asked for Hayden and was told that he was transferred, but luckily, Jr. Bank Monkey Kayden would be happy to help me.

I presented my problem to the third Jr. Bank Monkey, and my concern that the letter with my check addressed to the attention of Jayden, was on its way to Albuquerque. I was reassured that, it was impossible for this mishap to have occurred, and my ex cheating, lying, fee-charging bank probably never sent it. I told him that they gave me a check number. People aren’t lying as long as they give you a check number. On his end of the line there was a pause, a brief moment in which I could hear the cogs clicking in Kayden’s head. “Could you hold on one moment?”

Kayden reappeared on the line, sounding vaguely chastised. “It seems that Sharon recalls having forwarded a few letters to Jayden.”

I was disappointed to learn that his remedy to this situation was to wait until the letter got to Jayden, who would deposit the check into my account. I thought that bank employees should be tracking this letter down. Kayden should drop everything and drive East in pursuit of my check, which was stuck in an abyss of interoffice mail. Certainly, someone should be doing something. Or at the very least they should offer me a new accounts toaster.

I called every day, asking after my check, until the third business day, when the check was supposed to have surface by. I called, of course, but I spoke with Sharon. In about five seconds, I gathered that she was about as sharp as a wiffle ball. While not shocking, this revelation prompted me to drive to the bank and speak with someone in person. That way if my check was still lost, I would have someone to throttle.

Kayden had the day off, and Sharon, eager but terminally stupid Sharon, was there to assist. She promised that she would have that check sent right back to the branch in which we were standing. Instead of screaming a monologue that began with, “Are you really that stupid?” until I was forcibly ejected, I held myself together and told her that I wanted my check to be deposited as soon as possible.

I was certain that Jayden could handle the transaction at the bank in Albuequrque, and that way I could have my money sometime before Global Warming melted the earth and Sharon drowned while staring openmouthed at the sky during the excessive rain that would occur. By the next morning the money showed up in my account, but I never did get my toaster.

- Sarah Letnes

Filed Under: Cursed Tongue, Guest Blog - Comments: Be the First to Comment



top