A Letter To The Bank

Anyone who’s a regular visitor over at the Small Business Owner blog, where Paul Hassing of The Feisty Empire posts, will probably have seen a recent post about “naming rights“. Paul was debating whether he should name a particular company giving him bad service – and the comment stream was huge!

Now, I’ve been having trouble with my bank. Terrible, terrible trouble. Nine months of communication has deteriorated into pathetic buck-passing and me pulling my hair out regularly (alright, so I don’t have much to pull out, but whatever).

So today, I thought I would post my most recent letter, for your amusement. They have finally driven me mad. Read on… (amounts have been changed and all personal details removed, of course)

Dear Sir or Madam,

Here we go again. In this month’s episode of ongoing problems, we have complete silence on the part of [your company], a missing payment that was promised and more money disappearing into the void. Where to begin?

Let’s start with the resumé of events.

The complaint, reference [ref] basically consisted of me asking why [your company] took over £500 out of my accounts since November last year, without warning. After several months of (un)amusing banter back and forth, it became apparent that:

(a)    The personal loans department takes money whenever it feels like it
(b)    No two departments at [your company] are capable of communicating with each other
(c)    The person who dealt with my letter was impossible to find on the company directory

If you look back to the final communication on this complaint, from one [employee name] – who apparently has the pleasure of dealing with my regular missives – you will see that a repayment of two sums was promised. The first of these, for £452.32, appeared some two weeks after the letter (and after I prodded several departments to remind them).

The second payment, for £115, to account [detail], has never appeared. It seems to have wandered off, presumably finding something more interesting to do. Two months have passed. I’m starting to think that maybe it’s been abducted by aliens.

Bear in mind that, if the situation had been reversed (with me owing you money, that is, rather than the alien abduction), you would be charging me £15 per month and £20 a day, according to your unplanned overdraft information. For two months, that would be £1,230. I assume I’m not going to see that money, right? Thought so.

Now, let’s not be unappreciative here – I mean, I did receive that incredibly generous £50 cheque as a gesture of good will. For the seven months or so that I spent writing letters, telephoning and explaining everything time and time again, while you had over £500 of my money. (That would be over £4,000 of unplanned overdraft charges, in case you wondered.)

But wait, we’re not finished yet! That was just the resumé!

Looking at my statement, I see that this month’s loan repayment went out and there weren’t enough funds in my account. So you’ll be charging me for that, at a guess. Even though the funds would have been there if you’d have put that £115 in that was promised two months ago. Still, I’m sure you’ll pocket the £20 returned DD fee. Still no chance of those £1,230 of charges for your “unplanned overdraft”? Oh, well.

Additionally, since the promised payments, the loans department has once again taken over £450 out of my account. I’ve told you about this in several emails. Now, why would they do this, given that I’m in communication with [you], to arrange for previous such occurrences to be refunded and to organise my finances a bit?

Oh yes, I forgot. Note (b), above. No communication.

Quite why a bank deems it necessary to hide all a client’s information and communications between departments is beyond me, but apparently silo working is still the “in” thing at [your company]. “Need to know” basis, perhaps. Or maybe people in other departments look weird or talk funny. I don’t know. Suffice it to say, it doesn’t make much sense to me.

So anyway, I sent a couple of emails about the most recent £452.32 (it’s always that amount – I think there’s some kind of numerological significance that an astrologer would understand better), explaining that this is the same situation again and asking [employee] to (please) put the money back.

You see, what I’d really like is to get all this stuff sorted out. Put all the money back, so I can do stuff like paying the rent, then arrange payments. The trouble is, it takes [your company] eight weeks to respond. In that time, the personal loans department has charged in again and swiped more money. Or the credit card people have waved their magic wand and made funds disappear. Or something else. Whatever it is, it means that the never-ending cycle of take, put back, take, put back and take is, well, never-ending.

So what needs to be done?

Well, I’d really like that £452.32 back, please. The latest amount. Oh, and the £115 that was promised two months ago. And the £1,000-odd fees I should be charging you for having to deal with the massive level of blind incompetence I’ve encountered.

It’d also be nice if you could prod one of your business analysts with a sharp pencil and point out that your processes suck. They really do need a darned good going-over, you know. We’d all benefit from it. Yes, even you.

I look forward to your response (presumably in eight weeks) and hope, beyond hope, to see my money as soon as possible.

Yours faithfully,

Spike