Time to Go Back to the Federal Credit Union

I rarely lose my temper over the phone at customer service people. But just now, I went fucking thermal on some dude from TD Bank.

TD Bank is the gang of retards who absorbed Commerce Bank and polluted what used to be good.

Two weeks into December I spoke to an inarticulate knob, "K." He's one of those guys who tries to talk really fast over you when he doesn't have an answer. Every sentence is a string of non sequiturs that provide no information, no summation, and usually end with something equally useless like, "So, y'know."

I can't imagine where talking like a fucking sixth grader is considered professional communication, nor in what universe it's acceptable to straight-up lie to your customers.

K took all my information, told me I'd be charged $24.30 for new checks -- these cockrings have the stones to call their checking "free" -- and said they'd be in the mail in the next day or so. In the meantime, he suggested I go to a bank branch and get a free temporary check to use.

Great, I will! I trundled off in my carshare to the bank branch in my hometown. I waited in line for a teller only to be told I should sit on the principal's office bench on the other side of the room and wait for somebody behind one of the desks to help me because tellers can't issue temporary checks.

O.K., let's do that then. A few moments later -- this is suburban south Jersey, I've never seen that bank with more than eight people in it at one time, ever -- a pleasant-faced woman with a she-mullet asked if she could help me. Yes, I'm waiting on a shipment of new personal checks and am in need of a temporary check.

She was sorry -- sad face -- but that branch's temporary checks had just been shipped up the street to another branch that was apparently out.

Did I want a money order instead? Terrific.

OK, that will be a $4 charge.

Of course it will be. You ship every single last temp check of yours to another branch -- only moments ago, apparently, the delivery van's exhaust could still be seen hovering in a cloud in the parking lot -- and the only other option for the checkless is a piece of paper the same damn size that represents the same damn function yet costs four bucks.

Whatever, I don't have all day to drive from bank branch to bank branch in search of the elusive temp check that manages to escape moments before the camera crews arrive. Here's more of my money, give me my damn money order already. Christ.

From Thanksgiving to December 26 I had some monster flu/sinus infection that kicked my ass. One doctor's visit yielded scrips for antibiotics, an antihistamine-decongestant combo that I dubbed the Jimi Hendrix cough syrup because of how hard it made me trip, and allergy nasal spray to try and kill the swelling in my sinuses. The next doctor's visit 10 days later yielded scrips for stronger meds as the first round didn't do dick and my fever got higher, nose bled more frequently and body became more worn down.

Suffice to say, I wasn't at my most observant. By the time I figured out, Hey! Those dicks said my checks would be here in four days and it's been 13, it was the day before Christmas Eve. While on hold, I committed the following recording to memory: Our wait time is longer than expected. You may want to call back at another time.

Kiss my ass, I've been waiting 17 minutes, I'm not hanging up. But I really enjoy your tricks to annoy your phone customers into hanging up, like playing music from a radio station that isn't tuned in. Nice! Did you learn that from Comcast?

A very nice girl by the name of "R" answered my call. I explained to her that K was to have placed an order for more checks on the 11th and that none arrived and my account had not been charged. Was there a mixup at the bank, or did someone at the post office decide to embark on the exciting careers of identity theft and check fraud?

She said a service call had been noted on my account for that date, but that no, she regretted to inform me, no order was ever placed for my checks. So she and I did the same waltz K and I had done three weeks before and the order was placed. R told me that because of the screwup, she would be happy to expedite the order free of charge and that I should expect my new checks by Wednesday. If I had any further need for contact, I was to call her direct extension.

Finally, some actual customer service!

Today is Wednesday. There aren't any fucking checks here. And by the time I got home to look for the third time, R had already left for the day.

So "J," today's customer service rep, got my call in his queue after a 10-minute on-hold wait.

I was so fucking pissed, I started at the beginning with dear K. Think I may have referred to him as an "ass hat." Not that that description is in any way wrong, but I try to curb my language when speaking to people not in my immediate friend circle or bar during the baseball and hockey seasons.

K was useless. He prattled on during the call like we were communicating instructions for handling uranium, and then didn't do anything he said he would do.

R was very sweet, but a liar. She TOLD me Wednesday. She SAID two-day delivery, I called Monday before noon. Monday plus two equals Wednesday. She SAID the order would be processed the same day. She lied. Or, doesn't understand her own company's ordering and shipping policies, which in my book is just as bad. If you promise something you can't deliver, you are falsely advertising your capabilities.

J is a leftover from the Commerce days, he told me, after I said since the buyout the service at his bank sucks. I hate people who yell at workers in the service industry -- I used to be one -- and I know how much it blows to be on the receiving end of abuse because one or more of your co-workers are inept. But I could not mellow out. Livid is a grand understatement of how enraged I'd become.

I asked J for the tracking number of the shipment that R had placed. He said there isn't one. I asked that when my checks don't arrive tomorrow, should I contact him directly. He suggested I go to a bank branch and get a temporary check. I almost put my fist through the wall. I asked how he knew the order had been placed when my online balance didn't reflect a deduction of $24.30. He said it was on his computer. I asked what proof he could possibly give me that the order had been placed, I would be charged, and the shipment did actually exist because based on the stories I was told by the two previous employees, I had zero reason to believe a word he was telling me.

He said there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Register my shock and awe. Fuck you, TD Bank. I'm almost relieved to be poor, because the mere thought of your employees tending to any significant quantities of my earnings makes me want to force K to carve pieces off of R and force-feed them to J while I film it for the enjoyment of all on the interwebs.

No, YOU have a nice day.