(continued from yesterday)

Having parked outside, I had to queue for twenty minutes at the branch.

This is twenty minutes of my life that I can never get back. It was spent in a queue while three cashiers attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to deal with everybody, whilst two unmanned (or is it unwomaned?) cashier tills were gathering dust. I rued the fact I was missing Trisha.

After four score and ten I got to the front of the queue, where I explained that I wanted to open an account and presented the cashier with the completed forms and relevant identification. After a further twenty minutes (clearly the branch brain cell was on flexi-time that day) they had photocopied my passport and utility bills, opened the account and relieved me of a cheque for £200 to get it started.

All that had to happen now was for my God Daughter’s parents to present her birth certificate at their nearest branch, again for anti-money laundering purposes. I did not know that 3 month old children are at the forefront of organised crime and terrorism. It is reassuring to know that the banks are looking out for us.

I was now understandably incandescent with rage at the fact that it took forty minutes in a branch to open my God Daughter’s not-very-online on-line savings account. I fumed silently back to my car, where I noticed, sitting proudly on the windscreen, a parking ticket.

I was clearly delighted that my five-minute ‘pop into the bank to hand in some pre-filled in forms’, had taken forty minutes resulting in me incurring a parking ticket. The love for my God Daughter was beginning to wane.

I took some satisfaction that it was a job finally done, and the new not-very-online on-line savings account was opened…or so I thought.

A few days later I received a letter from the Halifax. Excellent, I thought, confirmation that the account is open and my regular monthly payment would be made.

“Dear Madam, following your visit you left us with a cheque for the sum of £200. In order for us to credit the account we are still waiting for name and address verification from yourself. These documents should include your Birth Certificate, Passport or Driving Licence and a utility bill. Please could you do this as soon as possible otherwise we will have to send the cheque back to you.”

They have written to me, at my home address, the home address they lent me the money to buy, asking me to verify my address. Despite the fact that I had already done this and they had photocopied said documents right there in front of me.

So I phoned the number on the letter and explained all.

“Please could you put me through to the branch.” I demanded calmly.

“I’m sorry but I’m not allowed to do that. What I can do is e-mail the branch and someone will call you in the next 2 hours”, another witless Halifax employee informed me.

Two hours later and, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’d heard nothing. So I called them again.

“I’ll put you through to the branch”. I was then put through before I could ask why it was not possible to do this the first time I called.

I explained my situation to the young man who was at the branch where I had wasted forty minutes of my life.

“Bear with me for 2 minutes”, he said.

Two minutes later, true to his word, and keeping the first promise from Halifax in nearly two weeks, he returned. “It’s fine, I have all the documents here and I have updated the computer system.”

“So you have all you need?”

“Yes.”

“So I don’t need to go into a branch?”

“No.”

“The computer system has been updated so that all this is reflected on the system?”

“Yes.”

“Great, thank you.”

I hung up. At last the ordeal of opening a not-very-online on-line savings account was finally over!

A few days later I received another letter from them which said:

“Dear Madam, enclosed is your cheque for £200 as we have not received confirmation of your name and address details in order to open the account and get it activated. If you could come into your local branch we will get this done for you.”

Trembling with anger I once again dialled the number on the letter. I explained clearly, concisely, and with only a few choice expletives, that I wished to make a formal complaint.

“I can either send you a form or put you through to my manager.”

“Put me through to your manager please, I genuinely doubt your organisations ability to handle a paper form of any description and I have some quite creative swearing to release because of your complete and utter incompetence.”

I spoke to the manager who was extremely apologetic, understandably. She said that this was unacceptable and would make the formal complaint on my behalf, she then asked if she could look into it and call me back in 10 minutes. I agreed. Sure enough, 10 minutes later she called me back.

“Once again I am so very sorry for this. What I have done is closed that account, opened you a new one and cross referenced it to your mortgage account. There is no need for you to go into a branch and verify yourself as this was done when you took out your mortgage”

“That is what I tried to tell the Call Centre a month ago when I first called…”

No tags