Customer: “Hi, I want to take [large amount] out of my account.”
Me: “Sure thing. Can I see your ID?”
Customer: “I don’t have it.”
Me: “You drove here without it? Be careful on the way home. Cops are out and about today!”
Customer: “Oh, no problem. I have my license.”
Me: “Great! Can I see it for your withdrawal?”
Customer: “…”
This happens at least once a week.
I’m running a deposit for a customer. I’m female. For those who may not be familiar with banking, “the Fed,” or Federal Reserve, controls the rise and fall of interest rates.
Customer: “Just throw it in my checking. The savings isn’t getting enough interest to make me want to put anything in it, anyway.”
Me: “I’ve got the same struggle with mine. The Fed is extremely frustrating right now.”
Customer: *In a patronizing tone* “Well, the Fed is controlled by the markets, you know.”
Me: “Actually, I do—”
Customer: “—and if the markets are down, well, the interest rates aren’t going to move.”
Me: “Sir, I—”
He continues in this vein for several minutes. I stop interrupting and just wait for him to run out of steam. I put my brightest customer service smile on.
Me: “Actually, sir, I did know all of that.”
Customer: “Oh? How so?”
Me: “I’d hope I’d know something about the Fed, considering I’ve been a banker and loan officer for over five years.”
Customer: “I, uh—”
Me: “And considering my degree is in business, you know.” *Big grin*
Customer: “Oh. How… nice.”
Me: “Now, can I help you with anything else today?”
Customer: *Deflated* “No.” *Walks out*
I work at a credit union. We use a pneumatic tube system to pass money, etc., between us and the member. The system is not very sturdy, as it’s meant to hold things like checks, receipts, and dollar bills — very light stuff.
We have stickers on each of the tubes that has two cylinders: one that has “25¢” on it and “10¢” on the other, both encircled with a red circle and a line through it in the universal “no” symbol, meant to communicate, “Don’t send rolls of coins up the tube.”
One day, the tube comes up thunderously, and we hear the telltale rattle and thunk of a broken roll of coins in the tube. My coworker sighs, and after greeting the member, kindly informs her:
Coworker: “In the future, please come inside with rolled coins and don’t send rolls of coins in the tube, as the roll could break open or the weight of them could break the tube system.”
Member: “Oh, I saw the sticker that looked like a roll of quarters with a red line through it, but I didn’t know if that meant I couldn’t send quarters up.”
I work in a bank. This particular branch has been redesigned for more of an open concept look. Instead of a teller line, we are at open individual workstations, with cash coming out of a machine next to us. I don’t like this, as there’s no counter, so customers try to come around and grab cash or paperwork instead of waiting for me to hand it to them. Please note that this regular is very tall and imposing, and I’m… well… not.
Regular: “Hey, can you break this $100 for me?”
Me: “Sure thing. Hang on and I’ll get it for you.”
Regular: “Oh, I’ll just come around and get it!”
He steps behind my workstation.
Me: “SIR! Please go back to your side!”
Regular: “Why?”
Me: “Because this area is for employees only!”
Regular: “But this is an open concept branch! They don’t care!”
Me: “No, but I do!”
He ignores me and reaches for his money. In one of those perfectly timed moments, he trips over my leg support mat and nearly falls. He retreats back to his side of the station.
Regular: “Maybe that was a bad idea.”
I am new in a very small town, so I don’t know anyone. Therefore, my habit of asking for ID has gotten a lot of complaints since I’ve been working at this bank. Apparently, saying, “But I know [Supervisor]; she lives on my street!” is an acceptable form of ID. It drives me nuts, but I can’t do anything.
Customer: “Hi, I need to make a withdrawal.”
Me: “No problem. I just need to see your ID.”
Customer: “But I’ve been banking here for thirty years!”
Me: “I’m sorry, but I do need to see ID for—”
Customer: “Fine. It’s in the car!”
She flounces out the door, muttering. My coworker, who likes to criticize everything I do, walks over.
Coworker: “Why did you ask her for ID?”
Me: “Because I don’t know her!”
Coworker: “I do! She lives in town. I’ve seen her.”
Me: “What is her name?”
Coworker: “Uh…”
Me: “And this is why I ID everyone.”
Coworker: “But she lives here!”
Me: “That’s not a form of ID.”
The customer walks back in, noticeably calmer. She places her ID on the desk.
Customer: “I’d like to apologize. I realized on the way out to my car that I don’t know you at all! So, it’s ridiculous of me to think that you’d know me! Your name tag says that you’re [My Name]. I’m [Customer], and here is my license to prove it. Now we know each other!”
Me: “Yes, we do! Thanks for understanding. I’ll have your withdrawal processed in a minute.”
Customer: “No. Thank you for keeping my information secure.”
I get everything processed and send her on her way. Seriously, people… if someone asks for your ID, they’re doing it to protect YOU.
