Catch-22 meets Franz Kafka

I’ve had the most surreal time dealing with a bank. Think Monty Python and Black Adder, or Frank Spencer on roller skates. The phrase “couldn’t make it up”, “get a grip” and “shitshow” spring to mind.

I used to work for a bank, am financially literate and married to an accountant, so you’d think if anyone could cope with banks, it would be me. Not so. I’ve lost the will to live, taken solace with my mate Tanqueray, and kicked the neighbour’s cat down the lane out of sheer frustration. 

I tried to phone the bank to ask what I thought would be an easy question – do I need a new business bank account for one of my organisations or can we carry on with the old one. The reason why I couldn’t answer it myself with 100% confidence was because the legal entity of the business is totally new from my days as a banker. An actual human bank clerk in an actual bricks-and-mortar branch that hadn’t (yet) closed down had previously told my colleague that we didn’t need a new account, but then an independent senior financial adviser told me that we did, which chimed with my general knowledge and instinct so I was happy to proceed.

However being a bit OCD as you know, before opening the account, I wanted to double-check and hear that advice from the horse’s mouth (is that phrase animalist?). I dialled the number, pressed 1 then 2 then 1 then 3, listened to some verbal diarrhoea about security, websites, surveys and the Chairman’s inside leg measurement, before being advised that someone would be with me in about 30 minutes. I recall when thirty seconds was considered tardy service. I hung up and checked the bank’s website for their FAQs. FFS, ruddy useless, but I did see a recommendation that I could message them on Twitter or Facebook as it would be quicker. Twitter and I have a hate-hate relationship – I hate Twitter and everyone on Twitter hates me – so I messaged the bank on Facebook with my question. Thirty-five minutes later – which, being numerically literate, I quickly calculated is not quicker than 30 minutes – the response was that I probably didn’t need a new account, but I should telephone the bank for a definitive answer. 

What is the point of directing people away from phones if the ensuing advice is to use the phone? Just asking.

Once again I phoned the bank, pressed 1 then 2 then 1 then 3, listened to see if the Chairman’s inside leg measurement had changed, and was told that someone would now be with me in about 40 minutes. Whilst waiting, I reported a mains water leak to the utility company (which answered the phone in just 50 seconds despite being overwhelmed by mains-Armageddon in Milton Keynes), filled in an eight-page application form to reclaim some money for Mum’s estate (which required me to give my inside-leg measurement), balanced a balance sheet (the errant £9.81 was easy to find), painted my toe nails to match my dress and cleaned the iron, a task I prefer to actually ironing.

Eventually the bank answered the phone and the adviser was very firm – I do need a new bank account – so bricks-and-mortar and Facebook need to get their ducks lined up with the call centre (there I go again with the animalism). Satisfied, for all of five seconds, I asked her which forms I should download from their website. Daft question: I can only open this account over the phone and it will take about an hour.

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll be aware that, should the process take one hour, the full hour, and nothing but the hour, that would be a total today of two hours and twenty minutes of my life I’ll never get back. In that time, I can make rhubarb jam, prune the roses, pluck my eyebrows and write a blog. That’s it – the Gods are conspiring to stop me blogging! I always knew the deity (deities?) were woke leftie Remoaners; I mean, look who their man in Canterbury is.

By the way, I’ve started to call ‘them’ Remoaners again, having previously promised someone I wouldn’t, for very good reasons. Maybe I’ll blog about that later.

I flicked through my diary – I have a spare two hours (better allow some extra time to actually get through on the phone) a fortnight next Friday after a boozy lunch. Does not auger well.

Wanting to use the intervening period productively, I asked which board resolutions / wording I needed so that I could convene a board meeting before the phone call. The response was … was … was … totally out of order: I will be told which resolutions I need as we progress through the call and account-opening procedure. What if I need a board resolution to authorise me to open the bank account? 

The conclusion I have come to is that the banks went to the same customer-service school as the airports.