I work at a bank. Obviously, security is important here. I answer the phone.
Me: “Hello, you’re speaking to—”
Client: *Drunk and angry* “F*** off and listen. My card isn’t working, and I’m in a bar in Thailand waiting to get my c**k sucked. Fix it now.”
Me: “And this is a [Bank] card, correct?”
Client: “Of course it is. Why else would I ring you?”
Me: “All right, sir, but first—”
He swears under his breath.
Me: “I need your customer ID number.”
Client: “What the f*** is that?”
Me: “Your sixteen-digit number used for telephone and online banking.”
Client: “How the f*** am I supposed to know that?”
Me: “[Bank] gives this number to you when you join us. It starts with your birthday and ends with four other numbers you should know.”
Client: *Shouting* “Well, I don’t f****** know it, so just fix my card.”
I tell him that before I can fix his card, I need to identify who he even is. I ask for his sort code and account number, and he only knows the sort code. I use this to bring up the first page of his account, which gives basics but no security information. It indicates that he is bankrupt, which may explain why the card isn’t working.
Me: “Unfortunately, you will have to call back tomorrow and speak to the fraud team so they can ID you.”
Client: “What the f****** f*** do you mean ‘call tomorrow’? I need it fixed now! If you don’t, I’ll sue you — not the bank, you — for not allowing me to just access my account without any hassle. Do you know who I am? I have millions of pounds in your bank, and I will ruin you.”
Remember, he’s bankrupt.
Me: “Sir, threatening me will accomplish nothing. [Bank] has specific guidelines to protect you, your account, and those ‘millions’ of pounds.”
A heavy silence.
Client: “Did you say ‘[Bank]’?”
Me: “Yes, my name is [My Name], and I work for [Bank].”
Client: “Never mind. This is a [Bank #2] card.”
