A couple of weeks ago, I pulled up my bank account online for a quick look. Even though I usually have a pretty accurate idea of what my balance is (or should be), there is a little voice inside my head that insists I actually check the account from time to time. It –the voice- sounds suspiciously like my father.
It has been embedded in my subconscious mind since the first time I managed a checking account. I was barely 15; we were living in the USA for a year and I had my first after-school job. Dad insisted that I open a student account. The idea was that he could help me learn how to be responsible with money well before I graduated from high school and had the potential to mismanage greater amounts. As it turned out, “great” is not an adjective that should ever be used in the context of my money management skills.
And so, my father’s patient admonition echoing down through time, I check my account online with some semblance of regularity.
Two weeks ago, I noticed an odd charge against my debit card: $14.95, purportedly for a “free” credit report from a particular credit agency. Since I have never ordered a credit report from that agency, free or otherwise, I called my bank. Another charge for $19.95, also for a “free” credit report was listed among the pending charges. Apparently, the free stuff gets more expensive the second time you don’t order it.
The bank immediately cancelled my card and refunded the $14.95. They couldn’t reverse the $19.95 charge because it was still pending. That would take a day or two and I should follow up accordingly.
Two days later, I checked, and the refund for $14.95 was listed, followed immediately by the debited charge of $19.95. I called the bank again and explained the sequence of events to a patient young man. (If they sound like they could be my son, I assume they’re “young men”. Since he called me “miss”, it’s likely he was actually my own age and thinks I sound like his daughter.)
The gentleman –see how deftly I move away from age- assured me the credit would be made promptly "in 2-3 days" and recommended that I check back later.
Three days went by and I revisted my account. There was the refund for $19.95. Followed by an extra one for $14.95.
The bank was now on speed dial. I informed the cheerful young agent that they had given me too much money. She gasped in shock and promptly transferred me to another department.
The next person to answer wanted my name, date of birth, mailing address and last four digits of my social security number; I was prepared to offer my children’s birth weights and 11th grade PSAT score if necessary. Once my identity was identified in sufficient detail, she asked, “What seems to be the problem?”
“You gave me too much money,” I said.
Silence. I don’t know if it was the concept of an honest customer or the mere suggestion that a bank might give back any more money than it had to, but in the lengthening hush I began to fear for the poor man who accidentally over-refunded me in the first place. I'm guessing he was shipped off to a retraining camp somewhere in French Guiana.
“We did what?” the woman asked, and I explained again: the initial $14.95, the later $19.95, the three refunds. She could be heard muttering as she went through my account. She called a supervisor who confirmed that they had, indeed, Goofed.
She thanked me for drawing attention to their error and I expected the standard, “Your account will reflect the change in the next 2-3 days.” Instead, she hung up. Out of curiosity, I went back online and looked – the mistaken refund had already been reversed.
Over the years, my father has given me a wealth of good advice to help me be productive and responsible. He didn't mention, entertained.
