Bank Policy
By Mary Schneider
In some parts of the world, or so I’ve seen in the movies, the national postal system will distribute posters to its branches with a picture of a hardened criminal and a caption that reads: “Dangerous. Avoid this person.”

In almost all parts of the world, though, the national banking system distributes posters to its branches with a picture of me, and it’s that really bad picture that looks as if I’m sucking on a lemon, accompanied by a caption that reads: “Annoy, frustrate, harass and irritate this person.”

Maybe banks aren’t out to get me that much but there are days – and I suspect I’m not alone in thinking this – when I believe that all the joys of a foot replete with five in-grown toenails stuffed into a shoe two sizes too small would be less painful than a trip to the bank.

Take, for example, my experience the other day, when I desperately needed some cash to pay for something that could only be paid for with hard currency – a common enough occurrence here in Penang.

As soon as I had inserted my ATM card into the first available slot in my bank’s ATM room, a message glowed back at me, informing me that the machine couldn’t read my card.

Undaunted, I then tried two adjacent machines, with the same resulting message glaring luminously back at me. Just then, I spotted someone at another machine removing a wad of crisp new notes form the hole in the wall, so I quickly queued up behind him.

Of course, when it came to my turn, that confounded machine couldn’t read my card either. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I quickly deduced that it was my card that was at fault. And upon closer inspection, I noticed that the magnetic strip on the back of my card had a tiny crack. So I did what any sensible person would have done under the circumstances: I applied pressure to the crack with my thumb, a ploy which resulted in a small piece of the magnetic strip coming off in my hand.

Having no glue on my person, I returned the delinquent piece of magnetic strip to its original position and secured it in place with thin coating of saliva. I then inserted the card into the machine again. This time a different message appeared. It went something like this: “This machine cannot read your card because it is covered in saliva. Have a nice day, and thank you for banking with Banks ‘R’ Us.”

I know I asked for that. Desperate for money, I then used the SOS telephone at the side of the ATM. “Ask the people at the Customer Services Counter for assistance,” advised the voice from head office in Kuala Lumpur. “But the staff are not here,” I groaned.

“But that can’t be possible, they should still be manning the counter,” said the surprised voice.

“Perhaps they’ve run off with all the money,” I suggested helpfully. This was followed by the noisy clearing of a throat in faraway KL. “In that case, you will just have return tomorrow morning when the counter staff are on duty.”

It was my time to clear my throat, and I hope what I said next wasn’t perceived as being belligerent in any way: “Okay, I’ll speak to them tomorrow. Assuming, of course, that they aren’t at this very moment sunning themselves on a beach in Acapulco, with the contents of the vault stashed beneath the mattress in their hotel room.” This was followed by an even noisier clearing of a throat.

The next day, as instructed, I returned to the bank with my delinquent card. And after queuing up at the Customer Services Counter for about an hour, an attractive customer services person politely listened to my tale of woe before delivering a lengthy monologue about “Bank Policy”.

As far as I’m aware, Bank Policy is decided by a highly-scientific practice which considers factors such as inflation, socio-economic conditions and the Kuala Lumpur Stock Exchange average through a process known as: Spin The Bottle.

Bank Policy, or so I was told, dictated that I must pay for a new card.

“Just give me a new card and I’ll use it to make a withdrawal to pay you for it,” I informed the attractive customer services person.

“Oh, no, you can’t do that. You must pay for it first.”

“But I don’t have any money on me. It’s all inside this bank. Can’t you make an exception?”

“Sorry, madam, it’s Bank Policy.” I could, of course, have gone upstairs, to something like the 99th floor, and queued up for another hour to make a withdrawal via a teller, but I was in a hurry. Instead, I rummaged around inside my coin purse and paid for my new card with five sen and one sen coins. I got the distinct impression that Bank Policy doesn’t like one sen coins these days.

The attitude of some banks is difficult to understand sometimes. After all, it’s not as if they are providing you with a free service; everything has to be paid for.

As far as I can tell, but I can’t be sure because I can’t be bothered to decipher the codes on bank statements, some banks charge you whenever you do any of the following: a) take money out of your account; b) put money into your account; c) look at money in a wistful way; d) think about money; e) walk into the bank f) walk out of the bank; g) walk within 200m of the bank.

I think I want my money back!

-END

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