Complaining, Capitulation, and Compliance

On the surface, my visit to the local bank was merely annoying, perhaps unremarkably so. Yet the episode bothered me beyond what would seem reasonable, and I decided to sit down and quietly ponder what exactly happened and why it irked me so.

Setting the Scene

I had gone to the bank to deposit a US dollar cheque, asking that it be converted to Canadian funds and deposited into my chequing account.

Standing in line, I see with a certain amount of low-level dread that, given the speed of the lineup, I will likely be called over by a teller whom I’ve often dealt with in the past. Let’s call him Gary.

Gary is an overweight middle-aged man with sausage-like fingers that work the keyboard very, very, VERY slowly. He has been employed as a teller for years. Never transferred, never promoted, and this is unusual as most tellers seem to be entry level clerks, usually moving on within the banking operation. Gary always occupies the only spot where the teller can be seated in a low chair (all the others are seated in higher chairs, putting them at face level with the customer). Gary is seated, and his customers are placed in a lower armchair in front of him. From his higher vantage point, he then engages in his own peculiar brand of small talk with the clients.

While waiting in line, I’ve listened to Gary’s particular brand of chit-chat. What I’ve noticed is a distinct difference in tone and content when engaging with men, as opposed to women. There are other more subtle subsets of differences when he interacts with older versus younger women, but he seems to be consistent with male clients. With the men, aside from the mandatory ‘how are you today’ or ‘is there anything else I can do for you’, he sticks strictly to business.

His demeanour is different with women. He seems to have a compulsion to make himself seem more important and more competent than he actually is. Additionally, he is condescending and dismissive.

The first time I had the misfortune to be placed in front of him with a US dollar transaction, I asked (as politely as I know how) whether he knew how to process this type of transaction. I asked because many of the tellers do not. Blankly offended, he answered “of course I do”, and then proceeded to muddle about, doing it wrong, calling over a more senior associate to rectify the problem. What should have been a two-minute transaction ended up taking twenty minutes — all because Gary would not admit to his lack of knowledge. He lied.

Is that harsh? No, it’s not. I asked a straightforward question and his answer was untruthful.

The universe has sent me to Gary many times. It seems my place in line always ends up at his wicket. And everything always takes twice as long. So I gird myself, admonishing myself to be kind and patient. Feminine virtue, perhaps.

Complaining

Today was a simple transaction. Take a US dollar cheque, convert it to Canadian dollars and deposit into my account. Nothing he — nor I — haven’t done many times since that initial episode.

Yet he quizzed me several times (something I notice he does to women and never to men): Was I sure? Did I really want to convert it to Canadian? Was I certain which account I wanted to use? (I showed him for the third time the number of my account written on the back of the cheque to avoid any misunderstanding) He then pecked laboriously at the keyboard, and out of nowhere announced:

I am giving you the best rate possible.

Now I’m irked.

Gary has no authority to change the rates the banks provide on the exchange of foreign currency. They have a rate for anything under $5,000, then another rate for $10,000 and then one for $20,000 and so on. These are not negotiable at the teller level. To get a better rate for sums north of $10,000 you have to have a bank representative contact a foreign exchange broker within the banking system. That broker will then quote a one-time exchange rate which the client can either accept or decline.

My cheque was not in that financial range. Gary had no authority to offer anything other than the standard rate at the teller level. And he didn’t — which is fine.

But because I was irked, I decided to ask what criteria he used to confer a better exchange and what would it have been without his intercession. He replied that he just decided to give me a better rate. Not content to let this go, I asked if all the tellers have latitude to decide which exchange rates customers are given. Sticking to his story, Gary said that he just went ahead and gave me a better rate, and then ducking his head down, he went back to sluggishly typing numbers into his computer terminal. The conversation was over.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Capitulation and Compliance

A wise person (either John Kozol or David Allen — alas, no one seems to know for certain) once famously said:

Pick battles big enough to matter, small enough to win.

Sun Tzu, in the Art of War, said:

Every battle is won before it is fought.

In my case, I was enacting the reverse of Sun Tzu, being doomed to lose the battle. My opponent didn’t engage, was either indifferent or intentionally obtuse and had the superior power of having something I needed, while I had nothing of meaning for him.

Anyway, clearly this was a small battle, more of a skirmish, really. Was it important? To me, being a somewhat testy pedant, perhaps.

To wrap up the bank transaction, my cheque was deposited with no further uncomfortable queries from me and, like Elvis, I left the building.

On a side note, I wonder if Gary feels the same dread when he sees me standing in line. Maybe; but somehow, I don’t think so. Perhaps Gary will go home later and lament to his spouse “you wouldn’t believe what this old woman said today!” Or, more likely, he didn’t even notice, especially since I am part of an invisible demographic (crone-age white woman).

Seeking An Answer to a Question I Didn’t Realize I was Asking

Did I really need to know the inner workings of the bank? Of course not. Certainly not in this tiny circumstance.

But what was actually happening here? Why is it acceptable for Gary to tell me this stupid falsehood? What purpose did it serve? Did it make him feel important or superior in some way? Or are little lies and falsehoods so ingrained in his persona that he cannot resist telling them? Was his performance practice for even bigger lies? Why does he preen for women, but not for men? (Remember, I’ve listened to him over the last few years).

The question that I believe has been lurking at the back of my mind is how frequently people make up little lies that apparently serve no purpose other than self-aggrandizement? Why? How often does this happen and we, collectively, merely assume that the person is telling us the truth? Or do we simply become exhausted or lazy about the process of questioning what is presented as real?

The process seems to be:

• We complain
• We capitulate
• We comply

Then we gingerly goosestep towards our future.

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