Winding down on the QM2/London to-do list, I picked up my order of pound sterling today at Citibank. As the teller was counting it out with me, one of the 20£ notes ripped in half.
She asked me what I wanted to do – tape it or send it back for a replacement. I opted for a replacement. Little did I know how complicated such a simple request would be.
The teller had to……………
- Get her manager over to ask the procedure
- Be told to call the foreign currency number
- Ask where she might find the foreign currency direct line
- Call the foreign currency number
- Wait. Be on hold. Wait.
- Wait some more
- Explain the situation to the other end
- Tell them I don’t want the ripped bill
- Pause to reach a UPS envelope
- Read UPS tracking number to other end
- Ask me what I wanted to do with the rest of the pound sterling
- Be told I’d rather keep it at bank until the replacement bill arrives
- I sign the opened pound sterling envelope that I opened it, had it counted for me, and am exchanging one 20£ note.
During all this, at least 15 minutes if not more, I kept asking the teller if I should move over and let others behind me take care of their transactions. She kept saying no, I was her customer. But I could FEEL the glare on the back of my neck and hear the foot tapping of frustrated and impatient bankers. It’s an awful feeling being THAT person.
To end the merriment at the bank, as I backed out of my parking space, a woman pulled up to double park in front of the bank to let her husband out, making it difficult for me to back out easily. I gave her a good EOS glare. Lo and behold, I knew her. She waved cheerily. I waved, but not as cheerily.Neither she nor her husband is handicapped or informed. or old!
I know, that’s a pretty boring tale for a Tuesday but hey, it isn’t Hillary news. 🙂