I work at a bank. We get mystery shopped several times a year. We have a very long list of things we get graded on. One of them is if we do a full financial profile. If done correctly, these take about twenty minutes.

I get a mystery shopper. I do a full financial profile, recommend a few products, answer her questions, and then she leaves. Even though I hit all the required categories, she does not score me well, and I get a very long lecture because of it.

A year later, I’ve transferred fo a different branch. One of the tellers informs me there’s a lady in the lobby looking for “information on our accounts,” which is our code for “mystery shopper.” She looks vaguely familiar. I invite her to have a seat at my desk and tell her about the financial profile.

Shopper: “Oh, you can absolutely do that! I’ve got time.”

Me: “Great! I’m going to start by asking for some personal information.”

I enter her information and get a pop-up that warns me of a duplicate profile. I click on it and discover it’s my shopper from the year before. All the information matches, right down to the email address. Since I know she’s a picky scorer, and I’m not likely to do well with her, I decide to have a little fun with this.

Me: “Ma’am, I have to say that you look so familiar! Have you banked with us before? Or maybe visited one of our other branches?”

Shopper: “No, not at all! I’m new to the area.”

Me: “Oh, well, you must have a twin! A mystery shopper who looked just like you came to [My Old Branch] last year!”

She stares at me for a second. A look of recognition crosses her face. I smile.

Me: “But I’m sure that’s a coincidence. Now, let’s start your financial profile. Tell me how you like to bank…”

I did a full profile and recommended five to seven products, making sure to describe them all in great detail. The whole thing took over an hour.

About a week later, I got a phone call from our regional manager, congratulating me on a near-perfect score and some glowing comments about how “friendly and engaging” I was. If you’re going to mystery shop, at least make up some new information.

I work as a head of confirms for a large bank. Basically, we pull transactions from our system, receive a similar list from a counterparty (CP), match them off, and send a confirmation notice back, as well as an email to another department for regulatory purposes. 

Management one day had — in their minds — a brilliant money-saving idea: moving the confirms department to a new office in India and shuffling the London team around to other departments, with just me left to oversee things. This office proved themselves to be woefully incompetent, rude, and lacking in any industry knowledge during the setup.

Eventually, we had to remote into their PCs and set up everything for them, as well as train and show them what to do. During said training, we realised they weren’t there anymore and had gone to lunch. Despite our pleas to management, they still insisted on pushing ahead. But this was only the tip of the iceberg of what was to come.

Their initial responsibilities were: incoming emails, matching and emailing CPs back, with a view to set them up on incoming and outgoing calls. Needless to say, we dreaded what was going to happen.

Within the first week, none of the reports went out to any CPs or the regulations team; the Indian office claimed they never received anything to match with. After a few days of searching with no solution as to why, they suddenly said they had email and web portal rules set up to delete anything that didn’t come from the London office and that they were not changing that rule. With two days wasted, we had to get the CPs to re-send everything to the London team, format it, and then send it to India. Problem solved, right? Wrong!

We got more complaints from CPs that most of the reports were not being sent back to them and the ones that they did receive were full of mistakes. So, we investigated again. It turned out their lack of industry knowledge was so shockingly poor, and they were incorrectly matching everything by hand — despite being given our automated system; apparently, they preferred manual effort — and matching [Bank] New York to transactions with [Bank] Singapore and making countless typos in the process.

So, it was decided that London would have to verify all matching, but India would still handle matching and outgoing emails. The London team quickly took over the matching as everything was constantly late — even though management told us not to.

Two days after this was decided, the Indian office sent our entire list of transactions to every CP — a serious regulatory breach. Most CPs were understanding enough to delete it but some never replied. The Indian office was warned about doing this, and the day after, they sent the transactions for [Other Bank] to everyone.

The regulatory team was also told by the office manager they didn’t want to send them their email, no further context, and they hung up whenever questioned. The decision was quick to assign outgoing emails back to the London team, but any phone and email queries would be routed to India. We were reassured they would be more than capable enough to handle this; we were not so optimistic.

Within the first two weeks of this going live, we received the following complaints:

1. The Indian office calling up several US banks, not identifying themselves, and asking for transaction details with our bank.
2. Swearing under their breath in Hindi and English whilst on the phone to people who understood both languages.
3. When a bank phoned them to ask something, they answered, “I don’t know,” and hung up.
4. Not answering the phone at all, because they just left the office.
5. Keeping a customer on hold whilst they chatted and laughed in the background.
6. Not telling anyone when their phones went down for several hours.
7. Phoning the wrong CP and giving transaction details.

That one was the last straw.

It got so bad we had CPs telling us there was a scam call centre impersonating us, and we had to admit, embarrassed, that they were our genuine confirms department, prompting plenty of remarks of disbelief. 

Following the regulatory breach, all phones were directed back to London. Also important, none of my London team had moved department in this whole saga given how we had to fix — and eventually take over — each one of their responsibilities, so we just kept our jobs. 

The process now is: emails and transactions come to the London team, where all the formatting is done, and we send it to India. London then does all the matching and queries and then sends all outgoing emails to CPs. At some unknown point, the matching email from India is received; it’s late, full of errors, and promptly deleted.

In two years of doing this, the Indian office has never sent back something on time or correct. It’s always a minimum of eight days late and with 60% of it incorrect, no matter how much training we provide, so we have given up trying with them. Given that we are now back to the original process, only with an extra office, one more employee in London as a liaison, and our reputation tanked, management still sees this venture as a success!

This story is part of our July 2020 Roundup – the best stories of the month!

Read the next July 2020 Roundup story!

Read the July 2020 Roundup!

I’m actually the idiot here. I am new to my job as a bank officer. This happens at a time when various welfare government pensions are being disbursed. However, some people know only that some pension has to be credited, but not which. As back employees, we have nothing to do other than tell them whether the same has been credited or not.

A customer comes up and asks me a question, pointing to the woman beside him.

Customer: “My wife’s pension was supposed to be credited to her account. Can you check it?” 

He gives me the account number. I see no credit, but I’m trying to be helpful.

Me: “There is no credit. If you tell me which pension, I may be able to tell you where to enquire about that.”

Customer: “We don’t know what it’s called.”

Me: “Is it any unemployment benefit?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Is it her widow pension?”

They stared at me, wide-eyed. I realized with horror what I had just said. I profusely apologized and quickly directed them to the nearest government office.

After moving into our new home, my husband and I are assigned a new telephone number. Supposedly, numbers are dormant for two years before they are reassigned, but the number we are given clearly has just belonged to someone who left the area without informing his numerous friends and even more numerous creditors. The winner, though, is the bank officer.

The phone rings.

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “Hello, this is [Caller] from [Bank]. I’m looking for [Former Phone Number Holder].”

I launch into my speech that is, by now, well-rehearsed.

Me: “I’m sorry. We were assigned this number by the telephone company. We don’t know the guy and we don’t know anything about him.”

The caller pauses.

Me: “…”

Caller: “Do you have another number for him?”

I admit that several-years-ago me was short-sighted and partially to blame here. I often have to fix her mistakes.

At the beginning of the current health crisis, I got a new phone. I transferred over all of my information and everything seemed fine. I had forgotten that one of my credit card apps required my fingerprint to sign in, and therefore, on my next sign-in on my new phone, I needed my card number and password.

This particular bank has a different policy than other banks I’ve used in Canada. I ONLY have their credit card, but to log into my account I need an “Access Card” which is a completely different number from my credit card. It’s probably “more secure” or something.

When I originally got the card, they never gave me a physical access card, just the number. In my infinite wisdom, I didn’t write down the number anywhere but in the app login. After this, it was encrypted, and not recorded anywhere else, of course, including my own brain or secure files, so it was promptly lost to the aether.

I am considered high-risk for the current health crisis due to my asthma, but I live alone and have to go out to get groceries and things, so I try to limit that as much as possible and wear a mask when I do have to go out. Luckily, I do get to work from home.

I decided to call the helpline and see if I can get my access card number as there is no other way for me to access my account and track my spending — no usernames, no “forgot access card” link, nothing. Again, security, I get it and appreciate it for the most part.

Representative: “Thank you for calling [Major Canadian Bank]. My name is [Representative]. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hi. I recently changed my phone and need my access card number so that I can log into the app again.”

Representative: “I can definitely do that for you. Can I have your access card number?”

Me: *Pause* “I don’t have it. That’s why I’m calling: so I can get my card number. Is there another way I can verify my account?”

Representative: *Sounding confused* “Oh, sure.” *Asks me verification questions* “Okay, so I can reset your password and you’ll just have to make a new one when you log in.”

Me: “What? No, I don’t need a password reset. I need my access card number, essentially the login ID.”

Representative: “Oh. Let me see what I can do for you.”

The rep puts me on hold without asking. Two minutes later:

Representative: “There’s a bit of a wait for me to get assistance, so I just want to check and see if you wouldn’t rather just go into the bank.”

Me: “Well, I’m considered high-risk right now and a lot of branches are closed, so I would rather get this dealt with over the phone if I can. I don’t mind waiting.”

Rep: “Okay.”

The rep puts me back on hold without asking again. Ten minutes later:

Representative: “Okay, so we can cancel your credit card and send you a new one to the address we have on file in five to ten business days. I just need to verify that your address is—”

Me: *Interrupting* “Wait, wait, wait. Why are you trying to cancel my card? Sending me a new one won’t help me with logging in. I need my access card number.”

Representative: “Oh. Well, we don’t give those out over the phone.”

Me: *Gritting my teeth* “Okay, well, is there a way you can mail it to me securely? I don’t mind waiting.”

For reference, the Canada Revenue Agency will sometimes send secure account verification PINs to your house when you sign up for their online services; it CAN be done here in Canada.

Representative: “No, we don’t do that, either.”

I’m getting increasingly frustrated and trying not to snap.

Me: “So, you’ll send me a new credit card, which could be fraudulently activated, but not my access card which is only ever used to log into the app?” *Sighs* “Can you tell me my other options?”

Representative: “You need to go into a bank.”

Me: “There’s no way for me to get my card number over the phone?”

Representative: “No, it’s policy to not give it out over the phone.”

I’m desperately trying to remain polite as I’ve done call service work and it can be h***.

Me: “I understand that it’s not your fault, but that is the dumbest thing I’ve heard of in the current situation. I will not be cancelling my card today. I will go into the bank to get this fixed. Thank you.” *Hangs up*

I do think about asking for a supervisor, but only after the fact as I am so incredibly frustrated that this rep couldn’t tell me initially that she couldn’t do the thing I told her I wanted. After I hang up I just don’t want to have to deal with them anymore.

I do try to log into my old phone, as it still connects to the Wi-Fi and I figure I could make do with that until it is safer for me to go to new locations, but I think the rep went ahead and actually reset the password or did something because it no longer allows me to log in at all.

The story does not end there. I do go into the bank. I wear my N95 mask — I had one for working with natural dye products from before the health crisis. I stand in the (blessedly short) line. They are letting three people in at a time, so I wait my turn. The woman at the door asks why I’m there, I tell her I’m there to get my access card number, and she looks at me in confusion. Maybe she couldn’t understand me from behind the mask.

The rest of this takes place inside the bank.

Teller: “How can I help?”

Me: “I need my access card number so I can log into the app on my new phone.”

Teller: “Did you get a physical card or a virtual one when you signed up for the credit card?”

Me: “For the access card? No, they just gave me the number.”

Teller: “A virtual one, then. Okay, card and PIN, please.”

The teller gestures to the PIN pad. I enter my card and my PIN. The teller goes off and returns with a piece of paper.

Teller: “Here’s your card number—” *shows me* “—and just keep that paper in a safe place for the future.”

Me: “Great, thanks.” 

I took the paper and left so I wouldn’t hold up the bank line, but I made sure the number worked in the app before I drove away.

Time in the bank: probably a minute after I got inside. I didn’t remove my mask, which covers more than half my face — I would’ve been willing to briefly if they needed it for identification purposes. They didn’t ask for ID.

Yeah, super-secure access card number there. I’m considering cancelling that card, since it’s my only tie to the bank, but I don’t generally have problems with them, my card has some good benefits, and I have to sort out some financial things before I want another credit check on my credit report.