The circle of DOOM
Me: "I'd like to change the address on my account please"

Nationwide: "Not a problem sir. Our records show that we do not hold an up-to-date signature for your account. We need to do that before we can update your address record"

Me: "Oh-ho! We can kill two birds with one stone, then."

Nationwide: "In which case, could you show us an official document with your signature, please?"

Me: "Yes. Yes I can. Here's my driving licence."

Nationwide: "I'm sorry. We can't accept this - your address doesn't match the one we have on the system."

Me: "Bu... but... that's because I've moved house."

Nationwide: "You have? We can sort that for you. However, our records show that we do not hold an up-to-date signature for your account. We need to do that before we can update your address record"

Me: "Muh"

Nationwide: "Could you show us an official document with your signature, please?"

FOREVER*

* This message sent from the Weymouth branch of Nationwide where I have now resided for the last seven years, a queue going out the door, down the seafront and all the way to Poole.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 11:55, 3 replies)

Car Loan...
Being a stereotypical student, the desire to pay for my education, the necessary beer fundage and some kind of status symbol in order to attract the opposite sex whilst attempting to learn at the same time - I decided to venture into the murky depths of the financial world by applying for a loan...

So I picked up the phone, dialled the number of the local financial institution and prepared myself for the usual telephonic drivel.

"Hi, my name's dannie and I'd like some money..."*

"Certainly sir - pop down to our local branch and me and my associate will discuss how we can help with your current financial situation"*

So I spent the morning ironing shirts, pants etc. making myself look at least somewhat respectable, as if my attire would actually sway their decision to give me my golden wallet of cashola..

Anyway - after getting ready, it was a small journey on the local bus into town and after a deep breath, I walk into the shiny granite countered temple which was the domain of my local bank.

"Hi, morning - I'm here to see Mr Austin and Mr Bentley with regards to my loan application please!" I said in by best 'happy go lucky' voice.

"no problem, please take a seat" I was advised, and was ushered into the corner where 5 seats arranged in an L-shape were situated, accompanied by a small table festooned with some financial leaflets. I even had some old fella with a shopping trolley to keep me company.

A few moments later I hear the all familiar trill of "Mr Kavanagh, could you step this way please?.." So I got up and followed the smartly dressed representative down a corridor full of small offices, all of which had the various names, and one of them slidey 'Vacant/In Meeting' things on the doors.

We get to the end of this corridor, and the girl in the suit smiles at me, opens a door and ushers me through it..

There waiting for me is some bloke polishing an Austin Maestro, and a Bentley, both looking rather worse for wear, and clearly showing no tax disc in the windscreens - which probably meant that they were'nt insured either.

Then the penny dropped - These were'nt financial advisors, but 'Banned Cars' and I'd fallen victim to yet another vicious pun.

*Shortened conversation for easy reading - not that it matters cause' the whole thing's a piece of fiction anyway.

Length? - About 4 hours of reading everyones tales of banking woes, checking terms and conditions, and making sure that my house is not at risk if I don't keep up with reposting on my account.
(danniekavanagh did nothing constructive on, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 11:49, Reply)

Hands Solo
This was a college friend's nickmane, because he had "wandering hands" and a solo card.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 11:25, 3 replies)

Remember those wanky NatWest adds?
The ones where people would moan about their banks and then say that their local branch was now a trendy wine bar? Well NatWest (you bunch of cunts):

Natwest:
The branch manager position is then removed and the local branches all answer to someone in another town.

Threatened foreclosure on my parents struggling buisness and then agreed to new terms.

They change managers on us, the new one doesn't seem to know about the new business plan. He's a cunt, I remember his card pinned to the noteboard in the kitchen with a vodoo picture drawn on it. The pin went through his nuts. I hope it worked.

Dad talks to someone else, they help him out. Then change managers again. A similar thing occurs.

Finally, Dad manages to refinance with a different bank.

And the thing that pissed me off the most about those adds? Halfway through this, the local branch gets turned into a fucking art gallery.

There were times where they put my parents under so much stress, I'm suprised they came through it alive.

FUCK YOU NATWEST. FUCK YOU DEEP WITH RUSTY WIRE.

Wow. That felt good. That's been hanging around inside me for years.
( The Togaboy The world will end on, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 10:48, Reply)

Revenge
Must have been about 1995, I was a skint layabout so didn't have direct debits set up to pay the bills, used to pay them as and when I could afford to and when they had red writing on them.

My bank whose name rhymes with Scabby Rationale allowed customers to pay their bills at the local branch which I did as there was not normally a queue unlike at the post office where you'd spend the best part of 30 minutes waiting amongst the ummm people.

I presented my electricity bill and £45 (those were the days) at the counter. The woman who served me seemed somewhat put out by this and also grumbled at me when I enquired about my balance "Can't you use the cashpoint" she said. Anyway, she took the money, stamped my bill and handed it back to me.

A couple of weeks pass when I get a letter from the electricity company demanding instant payment of the £25 that I apparently owed them. I rang them and told them that I had paid the bill and they informed me that I had only paid £20. I argued with them but they said that's what Scabby Rationale had paid them and to take it up with the bank.

So I went into my local branch armed with the original bill and spoke to the manageress. Have you ever tried to reason with someone who is incapable of logical thought?

Me: Here is the bill, it is stamped, this proves that I paid the full amount.
She: But our till role shows that you only paid £20.
Me: If I had paid £20, that would be written on the bill.
She: Exactly.
Me: Exactly what?
She: It doesn't say that you paid the full amount.
Me: It doesn't say that I paid £20.
She: Exactly.
Me: Eh?

This was a lost cause so I photocopied the bill and sent that with a letter to head office. A few days later I received a telephone call from someone at head office and had almost exactly the same conversation that I had had with the branch manager.

I gave up.

My mother, on the other hand, incensed by the injustice of it all wrote to the bank on my behalf and I did receive a very nice letter from the chairman saying that there was nothing he could do about it.

I suspect that the miserable woman who served me in the first place either pocketed that £25 or just put through the wrong amount to spite me. Or maybe she was just plain stupid which appears to be the main qualification to work for a bank.

I got my revenge. I opened an account with another bank and transfered all of my money to the nearest pound to it leaving 44p in the Scabby Rationale account. Fourteen years later, it's still there, 44p, never a penny less or a penny more. I receive debit cards, statements, all the other bumph that banks send out. I have notified them of my new address each time I've moved. They've contacted me several times asking if I want to close the account, each time I tell them no. Reckon I must have cost them a good deal more than £25 in expenses by now. I will keep the account open until the day I die. DO NOT FUCK WITH ME!

Am I being petty?
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 10:07, 9 replies)

Went to my bank to make a deposit
Unfortunately, I got arrested and I'm now on the sex offenders register.

And that's my wanking tale of woe.
( rofl harris, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 9:15, 2 replies)

Wow!...
I've just spent the best part of 3 hours perusing these stories, many replies, and even enjoyed the occasional chuckle at some of the more wittier responses.

I've even contemplated adding a witty anectode containing some punnage of epic proportions, as my financial background is totally hopeless and the nearest I've ever got to working in any type of financial sector, is counting the days takings in a bar*

That said, I'm actually amazed by what I've learned on this edition of QOTW and I'm going to spend the rest of my day trawling through my sorry excuse of a bank account in order to see if a hopeless individual such as myself can resurrect what ever financial dignity I may have left.

Cheers fellow B3tans, for an unorthodox (if not exactly reliable) education in the world of banking which has made more sense than my highschool experience of 'business studies class' - which was packed full of long words I'd never heard of, and often presented to me by a mouldy business teacher who looked older than the sun, and smelled of feet.

*This status has now changed, you'll find it - if you read the small print carefully.
(danniekavanagh did nothing constructive on, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 8:44, Reply)

What I Love The Absolute MOSTEST About This QOTW
is definately the poisonous vitriol that has been vented over the undeserving and unsuspecting. The call centre slaves, the 'counter gibbons'(phucking love that term, though) and, in the case of the righteous chap who micturated through the letter slot - the bloody cleaning staff.
So what if they are not responsible for bank policy, the setting of fees and charges or automated procedures? Who gives a rancid rat cadaver if they didn't make the original error that caused all the knickery twisting?
Phuck you random employee that is selfishly trying to make a living! Cunts.
(St Sepulchre's Belle tolled for thee on, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 7:11, 8 replies)

Ahh... fuggit.
Ever seen that movie 'Catch me if you can'?

Well, the exact same thing happened to me.
( Sextant goes to him is emotionally erect, on this day, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 3:40, Reply)

Just last night, I was watching porn and...
Oh. Bugger.
( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Mon 20 Jul 2009, 1:51, Reply)

most people are complaining
about the banks, and i have many tales of banking woe and rage myself. they don't even involve tits. so i thought i'd change the record and tell a nice banking story for once...

when i was a property trainee, i was working for officially the Most Evil Man in the World. our client was buying a large property for the bargain price of thirty million, and i was doing the day to day stuff under the supervision of the Most Evil Man in the World. on the run up to completion, i was working 18 hour days to get everything done, and i was exhausted.

now, the way it works for a solicitor buying a property for a client is that you transfer the money to the seller's solicitor to hold to your order pending completion. this has to be done first, as they won't complete without the money in their account. unfortunately, there was a fuck up at the client's bank, and the funds only came through to our bank at 2.30pm. so, as everyone knows, the cut off for same day CHAPS payments is 3pm. i had to give the instruction really quickly, and by 2.45pm it was done. i sat back in my chair, breathed for the first time all day, and went to get a diet coke.

when i came back, a fraction before 3pm, i ran my eye idly over the file. then i paused. that was funny. surely the sort-code in my instruction letter was different to... oh fuck. oh fuck. i had transposed the 10 into 01. the money would get returned. we wouldn't be able to complete. with a feeling of ice water going through my entire body, i shot out of the room and called the bank. the lady who answered the phone sympathised with me, but said there would be nothing she could do. i grovelled. i begged. i offered her the pick of organs from my firstborn child, should i ever spawn any. finally, she said she would see what she could do.

i sidled back into the room and cleared my throat.

"er, magnus," i said. the Most Evil Man in the World deigned to glance up at me.

"yes?"

"what would happen if, er, for some reason, we, er, couldn't complete today?" i asked. magnus scowled and ran his thumb down the crease in his legal magazine.

"well, technically the contractual deadline for completion is tomorrow," he said. "so nothing. but the client is having a completion party tonight. if completion doesn't take place, we'll look very stupid. now, i know it wouldn't be your fault, as you've done your bit," he went on, "but believe me rswipe, i would find out WHY it didn't happen, and i would not rest until i had made that person's life. a. living. hell ."

at this point my vision went black with sparkly bits in it, and i felt exactly as if i had swallowed a huge icecube. all i could do was wait until 3.30pm, when the woman from the bank was due to call me back. it was the longest 30 minutes of my life. it was longer than back-to-back film sessions of "titanic" and "gone with the wind" on repeat. my heart stopped beating about 15 times. and then my phone rang.

"hi, ms swipe. just to let you know," the bank lady's voice dropped to a whisper, "i managed to sneak it under the wire for you."

hoo-fucking-rah. no need to jump into the thames, god bless the bank! i had literally never been so happy. it lasted... oooh... about 5 minutes, until the Most Evil Man in the World made me deal with completion by myself. you have no idea what shitting yourself truly means until you have to say the words "i release the thirty million pounds to you".

but still. yay for royal bank of scotland and me not being murdered in my prime!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 1:21, 2 replies)

I'm with HSBC
And I find them pretty good. I've not had any issues wih overdrafts or charges from spending too much moneys as I've tried my utmost to only spend the money I have (or was given by the LEA), so my stories involving banks would be lacking in the random charges department.

But yes, my old branch was good. The people were helpful and friendly. Same with my second branch. Then HSBC decided to move out of this mansion of a bank building into some glass pod down the road with no tellers, but dozens of cashing in/out machines, PCs and phones. It makes it a real pain in the arse if you lose your card as you need to phone upstairs using their machines (My mate was told to stand in the corner while they sorted out some cash to take out of his account without a card)

However, being a grumpy bastard, it's good to know that you can do all your cash handling tasks, such as paying in or out and checking statements, without having to talk to a single person.

Natwest on the other hand are a bunch of tits, as they don't seem to want to transfer my ISA from Egg so they get their grubby mitts on my cash. It's not that they can't, they just haven't.
(Stu in the hat is frothing at the gash, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 1:10, 1 reply)

went to a corporate tennis day
at the hurlingham club with work recently, back when it was really hot a couple of weeks ago. now i am tres high-maintenance, but fuck me, that place is posh!

so the whole thing was summed up for me by the sight of the woman in front of me, fanning herself languidly. with her coutts chequebook. as one does...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 1:08, 4 replies)

You can always bank on...
...the fictions of SpankyHanky appearing in the most popular list. I stopped reading them a couple of months ago -- am I alone? It's not that the stories aren't good (most of them are brilliant, seemingly), it's just that the best bit about QOTW stories is being able to relate to the true stories, and I just can't do that with an obviously made up tale.

At least the frankspencer stories were filled with hilarious grot that could make me cum geysers.
(mmmkay, Mon 20 Jul 2009, 0:26, 8 replies)

Natwest
Well from reading some of the other stories, this seems to be a fairly common trick of theirs.

My second year of uni was an eventful one in terms of bank accounts. I'd had a Natwest account for a number of years and before toddling off to my first year of uni I got a shiny new student overdraft from them. All went well, but in typical studenty style, I was pretty close to the overdraft limit most of the time.

Second year rolls around, my first student loan payment rolls into the account and I toddle off to withdraw my rent for the next 4 months.

Wait... Does that say I only have £3 available?

With no warning whatsoever, Natwest decided to remove my overdraft the second the account was in credit, leaving me completely up shit creek in terms of bills. I told them in no uncertain terms to go fuck themselves and closed up my account that day. An awkward phone call to the parents secured me enough to pay rent and scrape by in terms of food.

Since this whole escapade, I decided to go set up an account at Barclays. All went well, account was set up, I even got an overdraft from them. When my next student loan installment was due I realised that like the mong I am, I hadn't told them about my change of bank details. Shit. It was too late to get it changed now, but I was informed the payment would just bounce back and I could call them after to set up the new bank details.

I phone them on the arranged day and am told I can't change the details as it was successfully paid into the Natwest account I had closed some months beforehand.

An angry phonecall to Natwest ensued in which a rather apologetic person on the other end told me there had been some mistake and 7p had been left in the account, meaning it had never closed (even though I recieved a confirmation letter stating it was closed).

I explained the situation and phone lady sympathised, telling me she'd put a note on my account saying I could draw out the full £1500 odd that had been paid in.

A quick toddle to the bank and a request to empty £1500 from my account got me seen by a more senior staff member than the cashier who smugly told me i'd have to wait, there was no way they'd authorise a withdrawl that large on money that had only cleared that day. I informed her of what i'd been told on the phone, she called me a liar, but waddled off to check anyway.

Nothing gave me more satisfaction than watching her wander back out to me with a face like a smacked arse to tell me I could clear the account that day. I did, in cash, and made her count it. Twice.

Amusingly they asked if I wanted to keep the account open.
(mrcheese989, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 23:32, 2 replies)

Had my card stolen...
I had my wallet stolen last night, and it had my bank card in.

I call my dad up to get the number for Barclays to cancel the card. He rings the main line and gets the number. So I call them up and get an automated response of "Press 1 if you are a customer", etc. So I press 1. Then it's automated voice asks me to enter my card number.

The number on the card which has just been stolen.

Great. Fucking geniuses. Got to love the people who come up with these ideas....
( Bathory, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 19:57, 14 replies)

Pearoast: "I don't have AIDS!"
I thought I'd try a different tack with this QotW, given that most of the stories will likely be bitching about the hilariously incompetent buffoons to whom we give our money. Not that this is a bad thing, it's just that I don't have a story to hand, and am away on detachment with limited interweb access. So, I shall pearoast this little gem for your delectation:

**************************************************
A good friend of mine works in a bank - basically when you walk into a bank, normally you see the rows of tellers behind their glass screens and then a chap in the corner at a desk. My friend is this chap.

About half an hour before closing time one afternoon, he's approached by a large woman with a very thick Nigerian accent.
"Can you sort out my money? Something's wrong with my money."

She hands him an account book. Not a bank card, not even a new, up-to-date account book, but an old, battered book which at best was probably issued in the early '90s.

My friend takes a look at this book and sees a number of worrying figures in there. It appears the account has been closed.
"Excuse me," he says, "I'll just go and check our records and see why this account was closed."

He goes away to find out the account was closed for "debt recovery" - basically the credit history was so bad that the bank dropped all the debts just to be shot of this woman.

My friend finds a more polite way to explain this to her. Her response?
"Why do they do this? I'm not a bad person." Then, very earnestly, "I'm not a prostitute! I DON'T HAVE AIDS!"

She then launches into the story of how her account came to be in this state. Little of it is cogent; all my friend can really work out are two things:
1. Something about a Dr Lumenfrond and his wife, who are from Switzerland. They are apparently "very naughty people" and stole her identity.
2. She doesn't have AIDS. She keeps reminding him of this; in fact, nearly every phrase ends with the assurance, "I don't have AIDS!" It almost becomes punctuation.

After twenty solid minutes of this, my friend has switched off. He has to be careful now - is this woman crazy, and should he call the police? More importantly, if she says "I don't have AIDS!" one more time, he's in danger of cracking up and laughing very loudly.

Eventually he finds the best way out of this situation:
"I'm very sorry to hear about all this. What you should do is fill out this complaint form. If you send this to the head office and tell them what you told me, I'm sure somebody there will be able to deal with your account."

And he breathes a sigh of relief as she takes the form and shuffles away. I really hope she wrote up the entire story of Dr Lumenfrond and her lack of AIDS and has sent it to some poor, bemused person at the bank's head office.

Length? About twenty, maybe thirty, minutes. But at least she didn't have AIDS.
***********************************
<sub>Thank you for patience. And have a good week if I don't have another chance to log back in here any time soon.
Additional moan: I don't get back from this detachment until the day after the Great British Beer Festival finishes. This of all of teh arse, as well asa flagrant appeal for sympathy on my part.

Mehehe...I said 'part.'</sub>
(LongJohnBaldry, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 17:17, 3 replies)

Hellfax mongers
Three times I've tried closing my account with no joys. Now I just get a secret joy everytime my 26p balance statement flops through the letterbox. Infact, I might shoot down and withdraw that this very day!
(Fluffy Face is blaming your picture for breaking my commode, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 16:35, Reply)

Just where to begin
Oh my word, I've been waiting for this question for a long, long time. on my list of "favourite institutions in the world" banks are right up there at the, er, bottom. When dealing with banks, you have to keep in mind a paraphrase of one of Neil Kinnock's most famous speeches. I warn you not to be different, not to be unusual, not to require discretion, not to require common sense, not to expect customer service, not to expect logic and above all not to need them to do anything more complicated than pay in a crumpled fiver.

Mrs TBS isn't British. Or at least she wasn't at the time she first moved to start living with me in this country. As part of getting her settled and introduced to a whole new way of living, getting her a bank account so she could manage the money she would either be earning or that I would be giving her for her independence was one of the biggest priorities.

This was going to be a struggle as being new in the country she had very few means to prove her address. Fortunately (I thought) her country was one of the few whose citizens are still required to register with the police if they are coming for an extended stay. This required us to queue for three hours at a dingy office and pay £35 for a nice certificate with a Home Office seal and a signature from the head of the met, confirming that she was living at x address and that the police knew about it. We sat down in our local branch of Barclays and asked to open an account and presented this document. "Oh, but this is not a valid proof of address" said the drone. I failed to understand why. It was issued by a government department, it had her photograph on it, it was stamped with a date and the autograph of the official who processed it. It contained no less (and a great deal more) information and official confirmation of our address than say, a driving licence, which we were told would be a suitable alternative. I asked to see the manager, a terrifying harridan of a woman who sat alternately stroking her moustache or with her arms folded and told me in a patronising manner that this document was not on "the list" and so could not be accepted as proof we were not terrorists or something. Without the proof she would have to presume we were and invite us to leave.

That's right. A manager of a high street bank told my future wife that she was probably a terrorist and would not be offering her any services. They also lost my own lifetime of custom in that moment.

So we went down the route of putting a utility bill in her name, tricky as at the time we were in a shared house with all bills going through the housemates and landlords name. Still we changed the leccy bill, only the account was paperless, the bill presented once a quarter as an onscreen pdf. "Just call if this is a problem at any time" said the company. We phoned up and asked for a printed copy, and in the post duly arrived, er a two sheet printout of the pdf. We approached a branch of NatWest and their customer services desk. Bespectacled moron there told us this wasn't acceptable as it wasn't "a proper bill" posted to our address. Yes it was, I countered. I could use his computer to log on to my online account and show him the same bill on the screen. Not possible I was told. I offered to show him the envelope with the company logo on it in which the sheets of paper had arrived, but that still wasn't good enough. Rather than attempt to help or show human understanding, he sat on his hands and invited us to leave the premises.

We went away and considered our options and forgot to pay the bill. So a red reminder arrived - through the post! Filled with optimism we went back to NatWest only to discover in the three weeks since our last visit they had changed their policies (without updating their website or in-branch brochures) and now required TWO separate proofs of address from two different sources. We were shown a small printed card on the customer services desk advising of this change. I'm amazed they picked up any new business at all in that time, so carefully did they keep this new policy a secret. We left never to darken their doors again.

In we went to a branch of Lloyds TSB, who, we were assured still only required one proof of address. The lady on the counter looked at it and said "oh, this is a reminder bill. That won't be accepted." I asked why. "It calls into question your fiscal competence and credit-worthiness." I pointed out that we were applying for a basic bank account, one which dealt solely in cash and which offered no overdraft facilities of any kind and supplied the owner with a cash card for use in machines only. This was, we were told, irrelevant. They would not be willing to accept our custom.

By this time we had moved to our own place together. This opened up another route of "proof of address" and so decided to buy the contents insurance in her name. A check on the FSA website confirmed that proof of insurance for a property was an acceptable proof of residency - after all why would you insure your possessions at an address you don't live at? Finding a bank whose own internal policies would allow such a proof proved near impossible though, but whilst making an enquiry at HSBC the girl there told us that whilst she couldn't take the insurance certificate, the red electricity bill we also had on us would be fine. "Even though it is red?" I asked. She looked surprised, "a bill is a bill", she told us sweetly, "this is more than sufficient proof of address".

So we sat and waited for the application to be processed. Two weeks later an apologetic note came back noting that the bill we had offered was more than three months old and did we have any supplementary documentation to confirm proof of address? On the list of acceptable items was - you guessed it - a certificate of home insurance. Going back to the branch to let them photocopy it, the drone at the desk was unable to explain why the insurance was not acceptable for the initial approach but was fine for secondary confirmation. Still, victory was ours at last. It had only taken 15 months from arrival in the country to actually finding a bank willing to offer my other half even the most basic of services, during which time she had been forced to have her wages for her job paid to me and then withdrawn in cash which she kept in a box under the bed.

As a postscript to this story, two weeks after getting her basic bank account, Mrs Stuck went to her branch to correct one of her personal details (her name was spelled wrong on the card) and was enthusiastically upsold an HSBC Premier account complete with debit card and £500 overdraft by a target-chasing under-manager who happily fibbed on the application form as her earnings at that stage were just under the threshold needed to qualify. You read that correctly. The banks were not able to show discretion and flexibility over their internal rules when processing the documents required to become a brand new customer of theirs, but were clearly happy for their staff to encourage customers to lie about their financial circumstances in order to meet what were clearly head office sales targets for premium products.

What made me laugh most of all, was that when sitting on their hands and refusing to help, the banks insisted that they were scared of the FSA rules and the spankings that would result if they deviated one inch from their money-laundering protocols. This would be the self-same FSA which was kicked from all sides over their lack of ability to regulate the banks over their free-for-all lending that subsequently put them billions in the hole and precipitated a financial meltdown of unprecedented proportions.

Length, I know, but this did take over a year. And I'm only just getting started.
(TalkbackStuck making obscene phonecalls since, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 16:28, 11 replies)

If there's one thing worse than the English banking system
It's the French banking system.

Whilst at university, I had to spend a term in France. For this, I needed to rent a room in France. To rent a room in France, I had to prove I had money in a French bank account. To get a French bank account, I had to prove I had an address in France... you get the idea.

Anyway, after much debate in animated French, I managed to convince the person at Credit Lyonnais to let me open an account. I was then able to convince my would-be landlady that I had sufficient funds to be able to pay rent and hence could rent my room. Whooppee! Or so I thought...

...6 months after I had completed my term in France and returned home, I received a letter from Credit Lyonnais, telling me I had gone overdrawn. HOW?! I asked myself, when I'd only left a tenner or so in there, in case I wanted to go back at any point and hadn't taken any out.

On further investigation, it emerged that my kind landlady, who had previously insisted that Taxe de Sejour (Froggy equivalent of Council Tax) was included in my rent, had given my bank details to the local council because I hadn't paid my TdS!! What's more, when I called the bank to complain about them taking money without my consent, I discovered that it's quite legal for them to do so, if the demand comes from the government!!

Even more outrageous, the bank charged me somewhere in the region of £100 in interest and penalty charges for going overdrawn in the first place!!

The moral of the story? If you leave a country, don't keep your account open and never, *ever* go overdrawn in France!
( Mrs Trouser is probably annoying Dave just by being here on, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 15:55, 1 reply)

my anus is bleeding from banking abuse
I’m sure Oscar Wild once said “The only thing better than a good play is a play where a bankers dies”. Don’t quote me on that but I really hate them with the sort of passions pikeys have for paedophiles in police riot vans.

I have just returned from a year of living abroad (New Zealand) and while I was away I was juggling finances back and forth. As much as it annoys me I do have a little understanding for the bank that has to send money to another country, it will cost a little. But the thieving fucking cuntiods in the UK charge you for the privilege of receiving your own money from abroad, surley it’s like a hooker paying you’re the privilege of some rigorous back door knockery?

I had sent a certain amount of money from my NZ account to my UK account to cover a direct debit, minus the charge from NZ I would have had enough to cover the debit. I forget all about it until one morning I have an epiphany about banks, there all cunts. So I check my online banking to check the transaction and low and behold I have too much money, brilliant me thinks until I check the history. The money I sent to cover my DD was not received in it’s entirety as the ballbags at FUCKWEST had taken a fee for the transaction and therefore the DD was not honoured and my credit now looks shite. Many thanks for this and it’s nice to see my taxes oiling the system of buggery
(CaptainCuntyBollocks the man who can with a frying pan full of lamb, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 12:12, 1 reply)

Sigh...
I can't understand people who defend banks, for these reasons:

Deposit a very large amount of money in a *normal* bank account - it will be lost.
I personally have had several thousands of pounds go *missing* for an unacceptable amount of time. So has my father. My next door neighbour deposited 22k in her account once - nearly 2 years ago - guess what? Still not been *found*. This has happened on more occassions than is reasonable to assume mistake.

They process direct debits in order of highest first to maximise the risk of *bouncing* and process credits last.

They limit the amount of YOUR money you can withdraw, and treat it like theirs.

They rip the piss with cheque clearances - the Templar Knights (who invented Chequing) would cash cheques quicker than banks in the UK.

They lie. A lot.

They increase limits on credit cards, despite phoning and writing to them to tell them not to.

They allow staff to have lunch breaks at the same time as everyone else - meaning large queues if you are unfortunate enough to actually have to visit one.

They close early on Saturdays, meaning that you don't get that well earned lay-in on one of the two days per week that you don't have to work.

The don't open Sundays, yet they still gain the libor rate overnight on your money, and can still apply charges on Sundays.

They charge you, even if your account is in the black, and then you have to fight and struggle to get them to see sense to get it back from them - minus the (criminally small) interest you would have earned from it.

If you are unfortunate enough to have been conned into borrowing money from them - YOU have to take out an insurance policy to protect THEM from the risk THEY took? Perhaps the government should pay for my home insurance then - after all, if there was no crime (effectively what we pay police etc... for) then I wouldn't need it, would I?

On one occassion, I had a payment declined on-line (despite there being more than enough funds), I was charged 25 quid for it, and 25 quid from the reciever of the money. I had done nothing wrong and was chased by debt collectors (x2) for the 25x2 until I paid. I had to pay them off and the extra charges from the debt collectors, then sue both of them to get the money back. No amount of people I spoke to could (or seemingly not) not sort it out, or indeed, had any inclination to do so.

They will bombard you with credit card and loan applications if you put any sizeable amount of money in your account - meaning that they have software watching your every financial move.

They have unbridled access to the those private, limited companies they like to call "credit reference agencies" - they do not have to go through any legal shit or anything to bad mouth you to these agencies. If they make a mistake - you just try and get it put right - nearly impossible...you can of course, change it yourself, and if you do...guess what? It goes against you when applying for credit. If they fuck up (and a quick look at public records will show you just how many thousands of county court judgements they ALL have), then who doyou register that with? CCN et al, will just laugh at you. The only way out of that one is to write to the agency fuckers and assert your right under the DPA that you do not want your personal information included in any automated searches. If we all did this, their abuses would be limited.

It's very difficult to NOT have a bank account, and thus they have a virtual cartel - and as such, that means that we have to put up with piss-poor service from all of them. (it is possible, I haven't had a bank account for over 2 years now).

You can actually rely on their unreliability. When I sold my house I was told the funds would be in the account (not my account, I don't have one, and wasn't allowed my own money in cash due to some crap law that means that rich banks have to have my money before I do) on the Friday. The solicitor seems suprised when I offered her a 50 quid bet that the money wouldn't be there - she declined, of course.

The money was there the following Tuesday, and yes, I had to sue for the interest that was lost etc...

Then of course, there was the time they [Natwest, I think it was in this instance] deliberatly fucked over the first retail chain of personal computers, Escom.

Escom owed 1.7 million to Natwest in the form of an overdraft, they also owed 18 million to Barclays. (The figures are as close as I can remember, this was a while ago). Natwest, knowing that despite Escom having paid off around 4 million of their overdraft to them, and showing no signs of not coninuing to make profit and pay off the remainder in a very short time, decided to call the overdraft in immediatly. They knew what this would mean. Over a comparitevly small amount of money, Escom would have to fold as they would not have the time or money to sort it out. They went bust - owing 18 million to Barclays. Natwest had fucked over a decent retail chain just so they could fuck over one of their competitors. It was all investigated and this appreared to be the only reason. Of course, not illegal, and as such they continued with these dubious business practices, no doubt whilst toasting themselves with champaign and patting themselves on the back for their deviousness. Nice.

Add to that, the times they've ignored change of address forms and sent card replacements to an address you lived at a year ago, sent the wrong forms to the wrong address (in the case of my business some years ago), *forgotten* to take a mortgage payment (and then charge you for not paying it) and basically, you have the largest collection of incompetent, immoral, greedmongers that the world has ever known.

So, when they collectively start to act like they have a modicum of sense, competence and maybe even a slight sprinkling of morals, then perhaps I could understand some people defending their actions.

Until then, anyone who defends them can only be tarred with the same brush - or are just stupid and/or lucky that they haven't been one of the many millions that have been fucked over by them.

Banks break the law every day - in many different ways - the only one the government are concerned about is the tax evasion. The charges thing was found by me (and others around the same time) - keep looking and find more. If the government we pay to protect us from this sort of thing won't pull them to order, it's left to us to do it.

Scum, the lot of them.

/rant
(dchurch bah, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 9:31, 15 replies)

flood gates are open
I was trying, the other day, to buy my shiny new bicycle. Which has been a pain, for other reasons. Anyways part of the paying process i was confront with a "please enter you password to enable this purchase" i had forgotten it.

One phone call later, to a nice lady, i discovered that my card had actually been frozen due to some "unusual" activite. First i hear... all was sorted in 30 seconds which was nice and i got a new password sorted... i may have forgotten it again.
(StyX is staring at you, yes YOU!!!, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 4:55, Reply)

I remembered another one
A friend of mine, who also reads this board *waves", MrT. Once had his card details copied and thus abused by someone over in the states. I believe there was a phone call and he was told to go to the local branch.

So in we wander. He explains the situation and is handed a form. On reading the form he notes that there is no space for "card details stolen while shopping on the web" in fact all they have is "damaged" "stolen" "lost". With a rye smirk he asked me which one, while holding the card up and saying "It isn't stole persay as i am holding it, neither is is lost or damaged, as it still technically works". I advice him to ask. The result, oh just write on it. so he made a little tick box and everything.


*EDIT* Well update, as i say friend reads this site, he messaged me to tell me that funniest part was, the fraudulent activity was to pay for a court case. as he said, basically someone did something illegal and then did osmething else illegal to pay for it.... idiots
(StyX is staring at you, yes YOU!!!, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 4:39, 4 replies)

Banks
A friend of mine, Richie, has a dutch account and while studying in the UK he managed to go into the red. As he was at Uni he was away from home (Holland) for months at a time. So when he read the letter he thought "oh fuck" so wandered down to the local branch.

The conversation went a little like this
Richie "Hi, i am over drawn, how much do i owe you"
Lady "Let me check" *tap tap* "x euros"
Richie "And the charges?"
Lady "Charges?!?!?!"
Richie "Oh in England they charge up for going over your limit"
Lady "Oh we don;t do that, just don't do it too often, too much and we might close your account"

He was well pleased.

My story. As a student i often managed to go over my limit quite a few times, mainly my fault. Although one time was clearly theirs. Card transaction on the Friday night, withdraw cash on the Sunday and BANG over the limit. WHY LET ME WITHDRAW MONIES I DON'T HAVE!!! anyways. A couple of years a go i heard about the bank reclaims going on, so i claim and stuck their "unauthorised overdraft" rate on it, 38%ish. They paid out. I spent it. Go me.

I am with lloyds, while sorting some banking stuff out i was offered the chance to upgrade my card. So i had the meeting. The poor guy, everything he told me about the account, i had. AA membership, i am with RAC. Phone insurance, have. Other things, don;t need. He did a one point throw the booklet over his shoulder and said "well don't need that". I did take the offer, was going to anyways. Nice guy tho.

Just remembered two. When i started my degree, up there in Scots land. I signed up for a RBS account, they had a branch on the campus.

When i signed up for a meastro card to replace my cash card, they stopped the process as they were waiting for me to activate my old card (i.e. i got a replacement cash card, which promoted me to fill in the meastro card form) so in short they were waiting for me to activate a card i was looking to replace before they process the new card. They told me this, when i went in to see why the process was taking to long. For 2 months i was going in and withdrawing cash.....

I also had an overdraft with them, bar promising myself i would never get one. I went in twice and asked for it to be extended. No problems. Went in a 3rd time and had the guy behind the glass tell me "you have to fill in a form" i said, i hadn't needed to the last 2 times. He then told me "you have to fill in a form" in a tone and wording that suggested i was lieing. One of those few occasion i wish i could go back in time and change things. The change "Are you calling me a liar?" and then kicked off a bit.

digression ahead: The only other time was the last shift i had a TESCOs, where the prick (my manage actually changed stores to get away from him) of a trainee manager, had a go at me (again) for my unironed shirt all the while you could see where his had being in the packet. I would dearly love to go back and add "Next time you have a go at anyone about their unironed shirt, iron your own you fuck" before walking off.

Now everyone click i like this!!
(StyX is staring at you, yes YOU!!!, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 4:26, 1 reply)

Banks are fun
"I'd like a new card, please."

"Can I ask why you'd like a new card?"

(No, you fucking can't. Just give me another card.)

"My Ebay account and email account have been hacked. There might be information that they could use to shop online. I need to stop my card."

"So your card has been stolen?"

"No, I have the card right in front of me. I'm just worried that the details on it might not be secure. I'd like to get a new one issued."

"Has your card been damaged in any way?"

"No, I'd just like a new card."

"I can't issue a new card unless one has been lost, stolen or damaged..."

"Can I just get this one stopped and a new one sent out?"

"I can only do that..."

"I understand. Well, we'll just say it's lost then."

"I've stopped that card, and I new one will be with you in 5 to 7 working days. The PIN will arrive separately before the card. If you need to get any money out from that account, take two forms of ID and a statement with your account number on it to your branch."

"Great. Thanks for your help."

"Thank you Teepee, have a smashing day."

(Smashing? Are you a 1940's schoolboy?)

[Later that day, in branch]

I've fucked up. There's no way around it. But I've got no choice. Two miles is a long way to walk in the rain. Needing the cash for travel, I've got to front it out.

"I'm sorry, but without a statement, you can't make a withdrawal."

"I have several forms of ID here... Birth certificate, Passport, P60.."

"But I'd need a statement. Your card has a stopped indicator on it, which means it could be stolen.."

"I know, I stopped it this morning. Can I.."

"...which means it could be stolen. For security purposes..."

"Can I speak to your manager?"

The manageress and I have the same philosophical debate. We dance well, it turns out. There's a lot of 'I understand what you're saying... but' from my end. She's 'sorry for my inconvenience'. The problem is, while I do understand what she's saying, I don't care what she's saying. Can't back down here, there's no wiggle room in this argument. And as much as I don't care what she's saying, it isn't as much as she isn't remotely interested in my inconvenience. We're inconveniencing each other in equal measure, she as a functionary, and me as an impossible function. We're in trouble. But we continue dancing, because I can't back down. Each minute I've got an extra employee dealing with me in branch is money they're losing in employee use value. If it's the manager, that's the employee and the manager, whose time is worth about five times as much to the branch. Every time I get to the counter and stay there for five minutes with a manager, they've lost an hour of labour. There will be longer cues for the next ten minutes. And I feel bad for a second there, about the other customers and their inconvenience, I really do. But in equal measure, I really just don't.

I'm palmed off to the phones to see if I can get any joy from a transfer to my savings account.
Before I go, I let them know that having my card frozen will mean I won't be able to pass phone security checks; and that I'll have to come back. After a brief ten minutes with a Emma in Scotland, it is apparent that I'm right in this instance. However, I do get a break. After asking alternate security questions, which I answer well, she has accepted it is me, and tells me "Proof of identity is at the discretion of the branch manager". All I have to do is get her to exercise her discretion. Emma is saddened by my treatment, bless her. I shouldn't have been sent over to the phones. I agree. I told them, I said. We both sigh simultaneously. The world is unjust, blighted with fools. I get a branch employee over to talk to Emma, who berates them for a minute that they shouldn't have done that.
I will miss Emma.

I'm back at the front of the queue. I'm wanting to talk to the person I haven't spoken to yet, and get to the manager again. The manager is at lunch. She's just gone. How about the assistant manager? They're not here today. If you'd like to go over to our other branch in Market Square... (I stifle a chuckle) I'm willing to wait for the manager, I say, and sit down in the waiting area. I begin playing Scrabble on my phone. The computer pulls out some wacky words on the hard setting. And somehow, I find this pleasing. The wait begins.

The lunch crowd doesn't die off for a full hour, half term increasing the traffic more than usual on a weekday. It's hot in the branch, but I wait. I get QI on a triple word score for 33. As a variant spelling of chi, it means life force. As mine drains slowly from my body in non-specific increments, I gradually realise this is a simple battle of wills. It's me versus the Man. The fucking Man.

The hour passes, and the crowd is falling away. Children, two boys, are demolishing a wire puzzle table next to me. As they begin a vigorous, noisy dismantling procedure that I had not at first considered, I smile benignly. I'm glad they are costing the bank money. They are my little accomplices, and their solidarity is edifying. I return to my Scrabble game. I can hear them discuss my waiting game at the counter as the late lunch crowd evaporates.

The game finishes, and I walk up to the empty counter, which is manned again, on my second return. I'd like to speak to the manageress please. You've already spoken to her. I'd like to speak to her again. Whether she accepts my ID is at her discretion. I'd like her to reconsider. I need access to my funds. I tell the cashier I'm going to wait to see the manager. At this point, just before I leave the counter, while taking a second free lollipop, I sense a firm hatred has developed from this cashier towards me. A notion forms that perhaps I'm keeping her from a tasty sandwich. What sort of sandwich would this cashier eat, I think to myself. Some sort of processed or mechanically recovered meat, on white bread, thickly coated with some sort of butter-u-like. Tomato sauce, but not a cheap brand. That kind of quality meat deserves the best, and by God, it'll get it.

I sit and wait again. I begin tapping my feet, to pass the time. It will annoy someone, alert them to my continued presence. Two other children begin playing with the puzzle table next to me, and are ushered away by an employee to a different area, who takes the puzzle table with her. I'm no longer a simple problem customer. I'm a menacing, sinister time bomb, a danger to both the branch and all who inhabit it, especially children. For a brief second I am upset, but then am pleased. They must desperately want me to leave. This is good news.

Five minutes later, the cashier who hates me arrives with instruction from the manager.

"As a one off, we're willing to allow you to withdraw a hundred pounds. You won't be able to do this again, we've put a note on your account..."

"Fine, fine..."

We walk back to the counter, and the process begins. I pass her my passport, and birth certificate. She almost pushes the birth certificate back in my hand. "We don't accept birth certificates", she said. As I knew for a fact that they did (this was a few years ago), I realised she was just being rude. A bad loser. Never mind.

She hands me my cancelled card back with the money, but not onto my side of the counter. She forces me to reach over, through the perspex shield to pick it up. She is imagining hitting the security button by accident, crushing my arm against the ceiling with a ten foot steel wall.

"Isn't it the 31st today?", I say, nodding towards the calendar which has been set to the 30th all day.

"Thanks again for all you help"

Later I eat at a Subway, to celebrate not having to walk home.

"I'd like a six inch Veggie delite, extra olives, on wheat."

"Just six inches?"

"Never had any complaints. Can I get some light mayonnaise on that?"

Tasted like victory. Small, petty victory.
(teepee_uk sniggers whenever anyone uses the word 'period', Sun 19 Jul 2009, 4:25, 7 replies)

I'm a banker, and I make absolutely no apologies (you're not paying my salary)
Pour your scorn *here*, but before you do consider the facts...contained from the coal face, in the replies.
(MrHappy, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 3:48, 19 replies)

PIN numbers...
PIN number?

Eh? Isn't that like saying "Personal Identification Number Number"?
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sun 19 Jul 2009, 3:42, 8 replies)