I
think I wounded the bank teller who was handling the drive-up customers the
other day. The bank probably won’t be bothered if I finally decide to change my
account.
Oh,
I didn’t scream at the teller; I wasn’t nasty. Not by a long shot. I was just
honest.
It
started simply enough. I had an uncomplicated deposit to make, and there wasn’t
a single vehicle at any of the drive-up lanes.
THE FIRST THING I noticed was that
there no longer was a drive-up window at the side of the bank building. What
had once been a glass window where you could see whether there actually was
someone working was now covered over with advertising. So I chose one of the
lanes that had a green “open” sign above. A video screen next to the pneumatic
tube fixture was showing advertisements. I put my deposit into the tube and
sent it merrily on its way. Then I watched some advertisements, and a trivia
question, and then some more advertisements.
At
last the screen changed and a face appeared. He would take care of my
transaction, he said. The screen reverted to its advertising. I watched and
waited. Finally I turned the engine off.
The
screen changed again. This time it was a female face. “How are you today?” she
asked breezily.
“Frustrated,”
I told her. “I’ve been waiting for 10 minutes to make a simple deposit.”
I DON’T THINK that’s what she wanted to
hear. “I just got back from lunch, and they’ve been backed up in here,” she
said defensively. The screen went blank and my deposit receipt was returned to
me.
Even
if she’d stayed on, I doubt I would have told her it’s not my problem that they
don’t have enough personnel to handle the customers with some degree of
timeliness. It wouldn’t have done any good. (I’ve actually been inside that
same bank and had much the same experience. Two tellers working and a couple of
customers with large transactions means you’ve got to stand and pat your foot.
While one or two people are sitting in glassed in offices trying to avoid
making eye contact.
The
bank is actually owned by the same national chain that we banked with before we
moved to National Village. But that was only because our hometown bank had been
bought by that chain from another chain that had bought from a small chain that
had bought it from the local ownership.
WE STUCK WITH the bank through all
those changes because when we went in the bank we knew the people working there
and they knew us. We could call the bank on the phone (a local number that rang
at the bank, not an 800 number as is the case now), and the person who answered
recognized our voices.
As
time wore on, things changed. There were fewer and fewer people in the bank and
fewer that we knew. The person had the drive-up window had been moved inside,
too.
We
don’t go to the bank very often. Most of our income is direct deposited, and we
pay most of our bills on line. On those occasions when we do go, though, it
would be really good if the bank had enough employees so that three customers
didn’t cause a backup like the interstate in Atlanta at rush hour.
My
wife’s Aunt Carrie used to say you’d get used to hanging if it didn’t kill you.
Perhaps we are getting too accustomed to being treated like sheep. Any number
of big box stores have multitudes of checkout counters, but only one or two
people manning them. You’re encouraged to use self-checkout, but regularly
there’s at least one item in your cart that won’t scan, so you have to wait for
assistance anyway. In some department stores, finding a sales person to help
you is like searching for Atlantis.
OF COURSE IT'S been eons since there was someone at what we used to call service
stations to pump your gas, wash your windshield and check under the hood.
We
seem to have forgotten that at one time the customer was if not king, at least
a part of the nobility. Now we seem just to be an inconvenience.
I’m
still thinking about changing banks―if I can find one that still treats
customers as if they were important.
Bill Brown is a retired newspaper editor
whose newspapers won a Pulitzer Prize, National Headliners Award, Edgar Willis
Scripps Award for Distinguished Service to the First Amendment and Associated
Press Managing Editors Public Service and Freedom of Information Awards. He is
the author of “Yellow Cat, Hendry & Me: Dispatches From Life’s Front Lines.
He can be reached at
bill@williamblakebrown.com
