Let the Games Begin

Idiot! Moron! Twit! A thousand expletives passed through my mind as I sat across the desk from a not-helpful bank employee. HE thought he was being helpful. *I* found him condescending and arrogant.

We began on the wrong foot. As I was signing in to see the branch manager to follow through with the check snafu, per the direction of the woman who helped me before and who was most unfortunately on vacation, a gentleman in his early thirties approached. "Does someone need some help?" he smirked at me.

I explained that I needed to see the branch manager. "Oh, I think he is at lunch, but let me help you." Dubious, I followed him into his cubicle and explained the situation. "Oh, my. Oh, my. Well. I'm not sure what you expect us to do about it." he sputtered.

I explain that Elaine was calling each place and arranging an equitable plan to address correcting the problem, identifying if there would be any charges or fees, then putting that amount into my checking account so I could either do an electronic transfer or write a new check for the full damage.

"Well, I don't have the authority to do that," he stammered.

"I see. That's why Elaine told me to see the branch manager. If I could make an appointment. . ."

"We don't do appointments," he interrupted me. "You'll have to wait until he returns from lunch." I explain that I am also on my lunch and not willing to use up personal time at work to address a problem I neither created nor am responsible for.

"Well now you're upset," he whined. "I was only trying to help."

"Look," I responded, resenting the fact that he had just insinuated that I was the problem here and giving *him* a hard time. "I will not take time off work to deal with this issue. The bank made the mistake, not me. Just tell me when the bank manager takes lunch and I will come back tomorrow when he will be here even if I have to take an early lunch."

"You don't realize how lucky you are that you decided to open an account with us and not some other institution. Anyone else wouldn't even consider helping you whether it was their printing error or not. We bend over backwards here to help our customers."

"Good," I reply. "I just want to make sure the fall out from this will be covered. With 24 items outstanding, those fees will run into the hundreds of dollars, and I certainly can't nor should I be responsible for that since I didn't do anything wrong. You understand that there are time constraints involved here - the DMV is saying they will suspend my license, Wegmans has already suspended my shoppers card, the late fees are piling up. These things need to be addressed quickly before they spiral out of control. It is in your best interest to discharge things with some speed."

"Well, now," he squirmed. "I never said we were going to pay all those fees. We will help all we can, but . . ."

Exasperated, I now begin to show my frustration. "I have already spent hours dealing with this problem. Hours that I should be spending getting settled into a new apartment, a new job, family responsibilities. I ought to add up those hours and send you a bill. After all, I am taking care of bank business here."

"Oh, now you are threatening me. This is a legal issue. I don't get paid to deal with legal issues."

I sit back in the chair. I can feel my face clouding over. This whole conversation has not gone well. I don't know what to do next. I'm a smart person - obviously smarter than the guy across the desk. I should be able to turn this around and get what I need. My mind is going full tilt, I am biting my tongue. Then I remember. Silently I pray. Lord, help!

Suddenly, he jumps up and says, "Let me call in the person who is filling in for Elaine while she is out. She's new, and I don't think she can do anything, but she should be handling this, not me."

He returns with a young woman, and I explain the situation yet again. I want to see the branch manager. He should be cognizant of the situation. She sizes up what is going on, then says she is new and has only been with the institution for three weeks. However, she would be happy to make photocopies of my paperwork, the new snotty letters from the unhappy companies who had been given bad checks, and speak with the branch manager as soon as he returns from lunch. She will give him my phone number and he will call me and set up an appointment that is convenient for me.

Yes. It was all I asked in the first place. She blinks innocently and asks, "Are these all of the fees we need to take care of?"

"Absolutely NOT! There are 24 things outstanding, Elaine addressed three of them, here are another five. These rude and disturbing missives will continue to trickle in for another few weeks at least." I feel like no one is listening. PLEASE hear what I am saying and HELP!

"Oh," she gulps. "I guess you DO have a problem."

"No," I reply. "The bank has a problem and they are sharing it with me. I didn't ask them to either." She laughs and goes off to make copies, leaving me with the guy. There is an uncomfortable silence. He tries to smooth things over by repeating that he really was trying to help. Really. He meant well. I say nothing. He was not helpful.

She returns and gives me back my papers, assuring me that the branch manager will contact me that afternoon. She apologizes for the misunderstanding and hopes I will not let this unpleasant incident ruin the rest of my day. "Don't worry," she says as I am leaving. "We'll take care of everything."

I believe her. I am still nervous about getting stuck paying stuff I shouldn't have to pay. But I am hopeful that I will have better luck tomorrow.