It’s been a while since I’ve ranted about the banking system…
No more begging Mike for advances on my allowance! Whew-hew!
So, the next logical step in my plan for world domination was to set up online banking. That should be relatively simple…
HA! Haven’t I learned that nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, is as simple as it should be here?
We attempted to log on to the site and were blocked. The outgoing message informed us that before setting up ONLINE banking, we must first call their PHONE banking to verify our details.
Once that is completed, the bank will MAIL (as in by Royal Post, not e-mail) a 9-digit log-in, which we can then use to set up online banking… and each step should take… umm, 3-5 business days.
When their letter arrived in the post this morning, I hopped online immediately. Instead of then allowing me to access our accounts, the site spit out another reference code (15-digits, that’s SIX more digits than the last one…) along with instructions to call their PHONE banking again and give them this code…
…and then, they really will (promise, promise, cross-our-hearts-and-hope-to-die this time) authorize us to access our very own money online.
Is your head spinning yet? Oh you just wait for this next part…
After 10 minutes on hold, I’m told that the code I have in hand is Mike’s, not mine or even ours. So, I just have to answer a few quick questions to prove that I’m also on the account. (Fine. Whatever.)
I am transferred to another rep, who verifies this, but proceeds to tell me that I still cannot access OUR accounts with MY HUSBAND’s code.
In fact, it is ILLEGAL and I will need to apply for my own super secret code, which must never be shared. Not even with my partner…
“I don’t get it. It’s the same accounts.” I argued
“Yes, but we do this for YOUR protection. Customers can only can access their individual accounts,” he replied.
“Okay, but this is a joint account. We’re married. We live together. We share the finances…”, I sputter.
“Madame. (dramatic pause) People don’t always stay together,” was his sage and worldly response to my obviously naive claim to wedded bliss.
“That is THE most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. We’re talking about the two of us accessing the SAME accounts. We share the exact same accounts!”
“No. It makes perfect sense. If you were to separate, you would want to…”
I cut him off with my hysterical laughing. I’m so used to this insane run around by now that I’m past the frustration. All I CAN do is laugh.
“Okay, whatever. Just send me the papers. I guess I’ll talk to you in 3-5 business days,” I said once I regained my composure.
Besides, if I were to ever leave Mike, don’t you think I’d drain our bank accounts first…
As an aside, all paperwork and official documents, from my bank cards to our phone bills to my library card, are issued to “MRS. G Duffy”. (As opposed to “Grace Duffy”, unique and multifaceted individual with a separate identity from Mr. M Duffy…)
Prior to moving to the UK, the only time anyone ever called me “Mrs. Duffy”, it was usually in mocking. Still, it amuses me to no end to live in a country where titles actually matter.