From time to time I have experiences that remind me that I no longer live in the customer service-friendly US of A. Just when I begin to feel confident in my ability to live among the natives--wham!--something or someone is there to knock me on my fresh-faced American ass. More often than not, these amazing moments are brought to me by this Santander.
Exhibit A: A few weeks ago I walked in in need of change for a twenty-pound note. I waited in the queue for a good ten minutes, while one teller helped a customer, and the other sat looking blankly at her computer screen. She told me I could wait until the other teller was available. Wow, thanks very much. Once the other teller became available, I walked up and said very nicely, that I needed change for a twenty. He told me that they don't change money and that I should visit the coffee shop next door for said change--!?!?!???????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I can only imagine the look I must've had on my face, because he began to giggle and get very uncomfortable. 'You see,' he stammered, 'we have to have a paper trail.' I said, 'Oh, a paper trail. As in this paper money I'm holding in my hand right here?' I shoved it into the tray and demanded two fives and a ten. He muttered something about 'just this once.' I vowed never to go into this place again.
Fast forward to this afternoon: Thanks to the HSBC down the road closing for some inexplicable reason--I mean, the queue for the cashpoints was always 20 people deep on market days--this is the only cashpoint on a heavily trafficked street. There are two machines. One is consistently out of money several days a week. This I've become very accustomed to. However, by some unknown force of the universe, both were out of money today. That's right. The goddamn bank was out of cash. This meant my cash-only dry cleaner gets to keep my clothes for another day. Brilliant.
There are few things in life that make me want to bang my head against a wall more than this place. read more