Were you wondering how it ended?  I’m still wondering if it has ended because, at the moment, my finances look like that junk drawer with 3 corroded batteries, 17 expired rubber bands, two gift cards to Mervyns and every non-working pen in existence.

Sometime around 6pm on the 28^th the local bank branch manager finally called, that’s a lengthy paragraph of pointless gibberish.  He did say lots of things, made lots of excuses, but it again ended with “there is nothing I can do.”  I had requested he provide me the loan pay off information when he had phoned at 10am, and he did send it when we got off the phone – but the payoff quote very clearly said “expires at 3pm” so more useless gibberish.

I had to work in office on Wednesday so I took advantage of having the easy-to-use scanner and fax machine.  I called all of my financial institutions, some have been on direct deposit for so long, I couldn’t even find my account information.  Went through those lengthy interrogations to prove my identity – none of them having the modern system of security questions or passwords, couldn’t send a fax for “facial recognition” because, if any of them have ever seen my face, first driver’s license maybe, I certainly wouldn’t be identifiable 25 years later.  Still would’ve made for great watercooler conversation if I had smashed my face on the copier and sent that image with the new deposit form.

I sent another email to the branch manager stating that payoff information was expired, please send an updated copy with instructions how to proceed.  I then spent a couple hours hopping back and forth between google and the bank website.  I called a dozen different 800 numbers before I finally got a live body in Illinois that, well first snarled that the payoff detail can only be sent by fax.  Cool, I have one of those!  Then, as if I’d just been birthed in a desolate jungle, she sarcastically told me that any branch could process the wire. 

OK! Now we’re making progress in a general forwardish direction!

I again called the local branch and asked the girl who answered the phone if I needed to make an appointment to process a wire payment.  She paused, stammered a bit and said “I don’t know if we do wire payments”  So..  um.  Yea.  Great employee training there! I asked her to leave a message for the branch manager to call me back.

Thursday was a work from home day and I actually got up and showered early, I put on my best attitude, determined that I would conclude this drama, skinning the first cat I could catch! 

(Do people even say “there is more than one way to skin a cat” anymore?  Is that like, politically incorrect?  I’ve been feeling that saying in my soul this last week, determined that one power confused, menial bank manager is not going to stop my progress, but seeing it in writing, maybe I need to google a more modern ‘turn of phrase?’)

I was ready to walk out but sat at the computer to get directions to the next closest branch.  So there is the geographically closest, run by the asshole, but there is another only a few minutes longer drive in the opposite direction – but having never been there, figured I should look at a map. WHILE I am studying the map (of an area I haven’t driven in ten or more years) the phone rings.  It’s the manager of the asshole branch.  I ask him if I can come in to process the wire.  He says no, I must first send in the formal notice of intent to close.  Thanks to Illinois, I already did that and tell him as such, again asking if I can come in to process the wire.  He hims and he haws, finally says “I’m available at 3.”  Maintaining my cheery disposition I said “that’s ok, I was just walking out the door to try the south branch” Flustered he says “They’re much slower!”  with a bit of a chuckle, I asked if he thought they’d have me out before 3pm?  Guessing he wasn’t amused so I simply hung up. (I don’t know if you know this, wires run on eastern time.  If you process a wire here at 3pm, it doesn’t really get processed until the next day.  I didn’t want to wait one more day!)

Did you catch the part of it being many many years since I’ve driven through this part of town?  Yea, here they move and redirect roads a lot.  I thought I knew exactly where I was going, the bank was just past the KFC on the computer, I made that right turn at KFC – no bank.  Knowing that this is the last right turn, with great confusion I made a u-turn to try again.. and ended up on the freeway!  I don’t know, maybe the bank was on the other side of the freeway and I should have veered left?  That’s ok, there is another branch this direction, I’d been there several times when they were still Bank of the West, and a u-turn is going to be another 3 miles up anyway. It’s fine.

I get to the next city’s branch and it’s virtually empty.  My hands are shaking, my stomach is tied in knots and I am trying my best to not let the anxiety melt me into a sobbing pile of goo.  I smile to the teller, hold up the HELOC form and ask how I go about processing a wire.  She points to a man at a desk behind me and I walk over to him, big friendly smile and ask him if he can help me close my HELOC.  Countering with his own cheerfulness he clicks a on pen and pulls out a form.  I sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk and he, probably just making polite conversation, asks if there is a reason I’m paying off the loan.  Lying has never really been my thing and I was so tense, I couldn’t have lied at that moment if my life depended on it so I did what comes natural and blurted; I hate this bank, and I need to get out before it destroys my financial reputation.  He paused, looked at me with raised eyebrows and said “I don’t want to pry, but if you want to share, I’m willing to listen.”

I dunno if I just needed to unload, vent, complain, if the rage and frustration had to come out some orifice and this was preferred to peeing, crying or vomiting.  But unload I did.  I told him how the bank paid my insurance late, my insurance was cancelled and nobody would help me – as I rambled his jaw kept dropping lower.  I’m sure there was some disbelief there, and I don’t doubt he verified my story after I left – but through all of that – he was kind.  He may have been thinking I was a lunatic and he just wanted to get me the hell out of his chair – and honestly, the reasons don’t even matter.  He did his job, he did it well and gave the appropriate nods of sympathy.  At the conclusion of the signing of forms he told me he was not going to close my account, he was going to watch until the wire cleared and the moment that HELOC changed to zero, he was going to kill everything.  I understood his reasoning and agreed, took the cashier’s check for the remaining balance and turned for the exit.

Just as I was about to leave he told me that if it doesn’t work out at my new bank he would be happy to have me back in his branch.  I gave him a wry smile and asked who was going to pay my insurance.  He made a finger gun gesture and joked back “love the sarcasm!”  I laughed and said I have leveled up from “seething rage” to “complete indifference.”

Friday morning, I finished my very long, very detailed, letter of complaint and emailed it to the regional manager. At the bottom of the HELOC form there was an 800 number with explicit instructions to call the day after you process the wire.  So I did.  After I made it through the security questions that made me feel like a contestant on Squid Games the woman, with a bit of a bark, said she just told the bank manager it has not cleared, “allow 48 hours!”  It made me feel “safe” that I finally had someone in my corner, I could go into the weekend with no more worries!

But then came Monday.  I don’t know what I expected to see, but I have been checking the bank app on my phone every 4-6 hours.  First thing I did when I woke up Monday morning was check the app and boy did the update snap me right out of bed!  My checking and savings accounts have both maintained zero balances since Friday, I now have a sizeable negative amount in my checking.

Sonofabitch!

I raced to an ATM and grabbed handfuls of cash, which, I’m almost out of – I really couldn’t afford to pay off that loan, but pride is a fierce motivator, went back to the bank and when I walked in the manager stared at me with confusion; I gave him a weak smile and said “I can confirm, after indifference comes hysteria” He let out a nervous little chuckle, still wide eyed he asked “but is it my fault?”  Nope.  This time my financial guy dropped the ball, even though I called him, spoke with him directly, told him I am closing this account, he didn’t stop the monthly automatic draw.  That one isn’t really a big deal.  I’m not going to do anything about it.  While I was driving to the bank the wire cleared and my accounts were closed.  I couldn’t do anything even if I wanted to. 

The regional manager did reply to my complaint, he used several adjectives, apologized, was going to address the people mentioned in my email…  but as I’m now officially done with that bank – it doesn’t really matter anymore.  And sure, you can say if I was leaving, why did I bother submitting a formal complaint? 

Because we need to.  All of us, the little guy, the women, the person with a smaller pile of potatoes.  We all need to report bad service – we fought hard to get where we are, we should not have to fight to keep it!  And guys like that asshole [local] branch manager, they shouldn’t get promoted, they shouldn’t get more money and god help the little guy if he gets more power!  Maybe it won’t impact me, but I hope in reporting him, it helps the next “me” because there are a lot of us.  And I for one will never roll over and play dead.  I will always be out looking for the next cat! (reference the earlier turn of phrase that I’m simply not replacing, if you don’t get it, YOU google it!)   While I might feel old and insanely tired, if the women before me hadn’t complained, where would I be?  It is my duty to pave the way with more complaints for future generations!