As you may have noticed by the title of this post, I bank at Bank of America. Whether or not I still bank there by the end of the day is up to one Mr. Pruitt, who according to his underlings, “does not answer his phone.” I left him a voicemail. It was an angry, precise, pointed and relatively respectful tirade against the treatment I received from two of his employees, turning a simple ordinary phone call into two hours of unwarranted drama.
You see, according to these two Bank of America employees, let’s call them The Accuser and The Apologist, I cannot be verified as myself. This is after I answered the exact same security prompts exactly the same way that I have since 1999. Apparently there was a discretion that found me on the wrong side. What riles me, and man was I riled, is that whatever conflicting information they had was an obvious error by The Accuser. I know my name, account number, social security and mother’s maiden name. I don’t even have to look them up. My answers were verbatim to the exact same answers I gave when I called them yesterday, and last Monday, and the time before that. Whatever she heard as incorrect was her hearing something incorrectly. She said that I was not on the account and denied me access to it or answers to what it was that she thought was suspicious.
I asked to speak to her supervisor, The Apologist, that true to her namesake came out firing with kind soft words of understanding and deepest regrets. She did not however comply with my request to confirm my existence. All I wanted was a second opinion. She didn’t even pretend that I might be justified in my being upset. Obviously The Accuser is above human error. They usually are. They denied to clarify their reasoning, or lack of it, and upon my insistence transferred me to her supervisor, the previously mentioned Mr. Pruitt, which you may recall, does not answer his phone.
I was shaking. I do not do well with people telling me, however sugarcoated, that I am lying. I do not care for the tone, or the smugness that always seems to go with it, when someone suggests that I am not who I claim to be, namely myself. I also did not care for what I suspect was The Accuser’s reasoning. She thinks Whitney is a girl name.
You might imagine this is a sore subject for me, hence “Whit”. Thanks to Whitney Houston I have had to live a life filled with ignorant disbelief and mail addressed to Ms. Honea (that isn’t for my wife). I have met perhaps 5 girls named Whitney. I have met twice as many men. Most of us go by Whit. Whit on ESPN, Whit the racecar driver, A. Whitney Brown, the guy on Smallville- all Whitneys.
It was my clarification of my name being Whitney, after I first responded with Whit, that led to The Accuser going Soup Nazi on me. NO INFO FOR YOU!
I have two questions in regard to the above theory. First, if someone says that their name is Mike and upon further interrogation reveals that their name is Michael, don’t you think most people would figure out that in all actuality Mike and Michael were indeed one and the same? Second, if I was denied access to my own personal information based on someone not believing I was me because they didn’t think a man could have my name, isn’t that some form of discrimination?
I left a message for Mr. Pruitt that surely conveyed my opinion on the matter. I’m sure that he could hear the fact that I was literally shaking with anger. I didn’t attempt to disguise that. I hope he realizes the restraint I showed while delivering my message. It was remarkable if I do say so myself.
After leaving said message I immediately called Bank of America again. I was helped by a guy named Kevin that asked me the exact same security questions which I answered in the exact same way. He did not question my existence and assisted me per my original reason for calling. He may have saved Bank of America a customer.
Now it’s up to Mr. Pruitt to show that they care.