This morning when I walked to work in a torrential downpour I found a person’s debit card on the street. Wanting to be a good neighbor, I picked it up rather than leave it for a potential fraudster to find, and abuse.
The card was issued by one of the Big Banks. There was a phone number on the back of the card, as well as a stern, all-capital-letters notice advising me that the card was the property of the Big Bank. So, I called the telephone number to let the Big Bank know that I had found its card in the rainwater sluicing down Third Street.
But when I called the Big Bank’s phone number, no one answered. Instead, I was routed immediately into telephone hell — one of those seemingly impenetrable automatic phone thickets, where a computer voice gives you a range of “press one, press two options,” and those options in turn lead to new levels of “press one, press two” options. After going several levels deep, and retracing my steps to try different routes, without finding any options that dealt with reporting a lost card — or that allowed me to press for a real person to talk to — I gave up in frustration. I figure I’ll just stop by the branch of the Big Bank when it’s open on Monday and, assuming that Big Bank employs actual human beings, give the card that I found to somebody who can figure out what to do with it.
I’ve been blessedly sheltered. In our family, Kish is the poor soul who makes the calls to the automatic phone lines and suffers the frustration that inevitably results. I’ve got a new, even greater appreciation for her willingness to handle that thankless task and an even deeper gratitude that, thanks to her, I’ve dodged that particular bullet.
But I do find myself wondering — is putting people who just want to do the right thing into computerized telephone hell really how American businesses conduct their affairs these days? It makes me think that maybe we should attach a few conditions the next time Big Bank comes to us taxpayers for a bailout — like, say, giving people the option of talking to an actual, human customer service representative.