Chamran Knebt

All the things I could have written about today (my parents’ visit, my birthday dinner, taking two days off of work in addition to the weekend), and then life jumped in and said, "Here’s a topic." I stood in line at the bank for at least half an hour today! All sorts of things contributed to it.

Wait, before I start griping, I promised a friend the other day that I’d try to be more positive, rather than thinking negatively most of the time. Well, it didn’t take all afternoon. Whew, I feel better! Now then....

1) There were only two tellers for all of us "regular" customers, and one teller for "commercial" customers. The least number of customers in my line was ten. (Remember, that’s the least.) The most the commercial teller ever had in line was two. This was on a Friday afternoon, when loads of people go to the bank to cash their paychecks. The bank should have prepared better for this.

2) One man had a transaction that, apparently, could have been simpler if he had gone to the bank across the street. (I overheard one teller ask the other why the man couldn’t do that.) Then, the teller handed over two, large stacks of cash, so much that it made me nervous just to look at him holding that much in his hands, let alone imagine carrying it somewhere without being robbed on the way. I don’t know what other bills were in the two stacks he received, but Ben Franklin was on the top.

3) Two people in line ahead of me had oodles of loose coins in large bags. Whatever happened to the day when the teller would shove some paper wrappers across the counter and say, "Have fun!"? No, instead of helping those of us who have our business prepared before we got in line, they took all the coins, went to a different room, and poured them into a machine which sorted them. All right, the machine is a pretty nifty and useful device, but it didn’t help any of the rest of us get done more quickly.

4) One of the tellers was a trainee. This means two things: one, she is equal to only half of a regular teller, and two, she had another teller with her at all times, which comes out to two employees doing half the work of one. Isn’t that something like only 25% efficiency? (By the way, guess which teller served me?)

5) Sorry, that was a trick question. The line (up to 15 people at this point) heaved a collective sigh of relief when we saw not one but two tellers enter the bank and walk behind the counter. The man behind me questioned the wisdom of allowing both to go to lunch at the same time on a Friday. It turns out that one of the returning tellers was a trainee also; here’s another 25% duo! Then, as soon as the solitary teller finished with her customer, she was out the door for her own lunch break, leaving us poor souls no hope but to be "helped" by the trainees, and still with just two stations open to serve the increasing line of customers. Gotcha!

6) At one point, the man behind me remarked, "That’s the sixth person to give up and walk out since I got in line." I had stopped counting at four.

7) The woman behind the man after me in line pointed out her companion from Mexico who was sitting in the lobby for us to get through the line. She wondered if her companion understood. "Oh, I think she understands waiting in line," I observed. I also pointed out it was a good thing her friend didn’t wait in the car. (At 100 degrees outside, the car’s interior had to be at least 140.)

8) When it was my turn to be served by the first trainee teller (not the one recently refreshed by lunch), I became one of the problem customers that I had previously griped about. Remember: it wasn’t my fault; I had a trainee! The check I had to deposit went fine.* Then, she didn’t know what to do with the 30-year old U.S. savings bond I was redeeming. She ran it through the machine twice, but it didn’t recognize it. Why not? "Oh, this is an E-series, not a double-E!" she realized. (I shudder to wonder if she was even born when E-series bonds were still issued.) Her helper pointed out a number or code or something on the bond, which she entered, and then the helper took over. It didn’t get any better. She saw my address on the bond and asked, "Oh, you’re from New Jersey?" I told her I was born there. "My boyfriend’s from Clifton." Well, I’m happy for him, but I’m rather cranky after watching you two putz around with your previous two customers for half an hour, so I’m not in the mood for small talk about some guy I’ve never met and couldn’t possibly care about. Anyway, it appears that my address didn’t match up. (Naturally. Why should anything else go right at this point?) She asked if I could voice verify it. I assumed (luckily correctly) she didn’t mean my old, N.J. address. However, "Do you mean the address on my driver’s license," which I had given her for identification, "or the one where I currently live?"** She meant the one they have on my customer record. "Oh, the one in Albuquerque?"*** (she nodded) which I recited for her. Oops: the Social Security number on the bond didn’t match the one on the computer****; do I have any other form of I.D.? Hmm, just my blood donor card. No, I don’t carry my S.S. card nor a credit card in my wallet. Why should I, if I don’t need to use them? (Note: logic doesn’t work on drones.) Off went the helper (you remember, the one who was doing the training, the one who, presumably, should know what to do and how to do it?) to the manager (a bit closer to my age, but not much). I could hear her clearly from the other end of the counter (she was the one helping the commercial customers), "Is he a customer? Well, just ask him what his number is." (I had to imagine the "Duh!" following it, but you know it was implied.) Finally, the transaction was completed, and I had my receipts. "Is there anything else?" the helper asked. You mean besides giving me back my driver’s license, dummy? How about, "Don’t I need to sign the bond?" "No, because you deposited it; we didn’t give you cash." Hmm, I didn’t want to point out that the previous years when I redeemed bonds and deposited them, I did have to sign them. No, just get me the heck out of the bank.

9) Oh yes, as I was dealing with this mess, the guy behind me in line, who had finished his business rapidly, said, "Good luck," to me on his way to the door. A little too late for that, but thanks, mister.

I could tear into a tangent of how awful customer service is in this town, but I’m tired of typing, and I should probably save it for another day, when I’m more prepared to think positively again before starting.

* When I registered the time printed on the receipt, my jaw dropped. I couldn’t possibly have been in the bank for half an hour already, could I? (When I got home, my mother, who was waiting for me, was relieved. She thought I might have been hit by a car on the short walk to or from the bank, because I didn't return right away.)

** After I moved last year, I went to the DMV and asked to change the address on my license, which I had just renewed four months before, for a period of eight years. They wanted to charge me a full fee for an entirely new license. The heck with that. If I ever get pulled over (next to impossible, considering my spotless record), I’ll just tell the officer my correct address. I’ll change it eight years from now, thanks.

*** Simple reason: when I started college, my dad cosigned my checking account. We listed our home address, since we assumed my residence hall address would be temporary (but that’s a story in-and-of-itself). We haven’t bothered to change it since then, that’s all.

**** From looking at it, I guessed it was one of my parents’ numbers (since I was a minor when given the bond) or my grandmother’s (who purchased the bond).