, , , , , ,

On November 5th, which was National Bank Transfer Day, I moved my money.  I marched right into Wells Fargo and closed the account I’d opened (with Wachovia) back in 1999 when I didn’t know better.  Here are the tellers, behind their glass, closing my account.

The tellers at Wells Fargo, closing my account for good!

I visited several local banks and one credit union in my area, and settled on Ridgewood Savings Bank, mainly because they permit four non-Ridgewood ATM withdrawals a month with no ATM fee.  I use ATMs a lot…

I opened the account with the cash I had on me.  $32, I believe.  I then began slowly depositing cash and paychecks.  It took a couple of weeks to get my new card, to get the PIN to go with it, and to change all the online accounts and automatic bill pays I’d set up over years and years.  It was a pain, but felt worth it.

Until, today, when I checked my account and saw that I had a negative balance, and a $30 overdraft fee.  Now, I’m not the most financially organized person in the world, but I know I didn’t overdraft my account.  I deposited more than enough in checks – thousands of dollars worth – to cover the bills I’d paid.  So wtf was going on?  I called, and the customer service person who answered told me my checks were being held against my account, as is policy with brand new account holders, for 30 days.  Yikes!  I got pissed.  The customer service woman then transfered me to my local branch.

The man who answered the phone at my local branch, Mark, happened to be the man with whom I’d opened the account.  I told Mark my situation, and he put me on hold.

Ten minutes later, I was still tapping my fingers on my desk.

Eleven minutes later, Mark got back on the line and told me they’d release the checks into my account.  That my account was back in the black.  That from now on, my checks would only need 3 business days to clear.  And that they’d be happy to wave the $30 fee…

I told Mark that they were amazing.  That here I was, stewing over the fact that I’d taken the trouble to switch from my big bank, only to be dealing with the same shit all over again, and how happy I was that they’d resolved everything so simply.

And then (and THEN, omg) Mark on the phone, who knew me by my account number only, asked me how my dog was.  My dog.  Who’d been invited into the bank on the day I opened my account.  Here’s a picture of my dog, Mickey, meeting Mark on the day I opened my account.

Mickey meeting Mark, my new banker, the day I opened my account at Ridgewood Savings Bank.

Can you even believe that shit?!

Move your money.  Move your money!  MOVE YOUR MONEY!!



Related Reading: