I’ve been with Bank of America for over nine years. The first seven and some change were as smooth and happy as a bank and customer relationship could be. Since then it has been utter hell. I don’t know if they’ve decided to quit training their employees or if they are actively searching out the heartless, rude and socially inept.
In September of 2006 they called me a liar because they didn’t believe that I am me. Needless to say I was a bit pissed off.
A few weeks ago they put a hold on a paycheck for a reason that smells suspiciously of horseshit. A check that I needed and had counted on. It was too much money from my out of state (NY) employer into my out of state account (WA) and they decided to hold it for 10 days. Ten days I was punished for working my ass off so that I could make some extra money and treat my family to a weekend getaway that I nearly had to cancel. I stood on my cellphone in the grocery store and yelled loudly into the frozen food aisle that they were losing me as a customer. And they are. I may have said “fuck” loudly in front of children. Those ten days hurt more than my wallet.
I have since opened a new account. Yes, it’s still with Bank of America, only because the local branch in my corner grocer have never been anything but cool to me. It was always the jackasses in Seattle that were pulling the crazy. I would have gone elsewhere, but the truth is I want the convenience and there isn’t another bank for miles. Plus, I like to bank where I buy beer. It’s one less stop.
While I have switched over most of my accounts and automatic payments I decided to keep the WA account open a little while longer to ensure I wasn’t forgetting anything. I was. I realized last night that a payment would be taken out of the Washington account and that there wasn’t enough money in it to cover the withdrawal. I went to the ATM and took money from my new account and put it in the old one. At the end of business today my deposit is still not showing and my old account is overdrawn. It didn’t surprise me.
I called the bank to make sure that I wouldn’t have a fee placed on the account. I answered every security question as I always have. The associate said that I wasn’t listed on the account. I restated everything and he said that all of the information I gave was correct, but that there were two women on the account. I am a man.
Yes, this has happened before and I’ll spare you the story about how I’ve met twice as many men named Whitney then women. I can list 5 guys on TV named Whitney and I don’t know a single female that is currently popular (other than Houston, who started this mess to begin with). I am a man and my name is Whitney. Deal with it.
He didn’t believe me. I said, “Whit. Whit is short for Whitney.”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” he answered.
“And you couldn’t figure it out?” I asked. “It seems pretty obvious.”
“So,” I continued, “if someone said their name was Mike and the account read Michael you wouldn’t think it was the same person?”
“My middle name is Mike and it’s not short for Michael. It’s just Mike.”
“Okay, whatever,” I said. “What if my wife called and said Tricia. Would you not assume that it was short for Patricia? Would you even ask her?”
“No. Those are two different names.”
“Maybe where you come from.”
“So can you answer my question or what?”
It went from there. We were both mad. I was mad because he was a fucking idiot. He was mad for the same reason only he didn’t know it.
I waited on the line to be connected to the survey I had been chosen for.
Silence. And then the line went dead.