Remember when you stood in a bank queue, knowing for certain that you would talk to a human being, at a real counter? OK, you might have had to wait a few minutes while someone tipped a thousand pounds in pennies in front of the cashier, but you’d be confident that, sooner or later, your problems would be sorted out kindly and efficiently. Sometimes you’d be invited into a small side office, with a comfy chair, for discretion and privacy. Maybe even offered a cup of tea.
It feels like that was back in the days when the AA men saluted. The advent of online banking has seen a sharp decline in bricks and mortar banks, to the extent that it’s now almost impossible to speak to a human being about your money. There are no walk-in banks left in my nearest town, and the same is true across Europe.
This lack of personal customer service has so infuriated Spanish pensioner Carlos San Juan, 78, a retired doctor from Valencia, that he has handed a petition to Spanish government employees demanding an alternative to online banking, saying that it makes him feel “left out”. His rallying cry “Soy Mayor NO idiota” –”I’m a senior citizen, not an idiot!” – has brought a wave of support for his cause: the petition attracted 610,000 signatures in Spain and plenty more support beyond.
Whatever your age, your relationship with your bank is one you often have for life, and as such it should be personal and accessible. Deep down, banks know this: their misty, “caring” adverts claim they are “By your side” and “Here, for the journey”. Yet with little or no visible presence on the high street, that claim can feel hollow indeed.
San Juan was specifically speaking for Spain’s estimated 10 million retirees, but you don’t have to be a senior citizen to feel that the term “customer service” is often an oxymoron these days.
In fact, despite the common assumption that elderly people (I prefer to call us Senior Railcard Holders) haven’t a clue how to use the internet and go to pieces when confronted with a website, most of us are extremely online savvy.
But that’s not the point. Many people of all ages, particularly those who live alone, used to look forward to popping into their bank. They knew the staff, met friends in the queue, exchanged news and enjoyed the social interaction.
By nudging us into switching online, our banks have denied us the human desire for a sympathetic exchange with someone who can sort things out. We don’t want a maze of “options” based on algorithms, which seem designed to raise our hackles and blood pressure (and that’s before we’re asked to “rate your experience”). Have you ever found a helpful answer in the list of FAQs? I certainly haven’t.
Banks – like so much of corporate Britain – are acting like a Hollywood A listers: creating a defensive wall to stop us getting close enough to speak to them. But just like those celebrities who depend on fans for their fame, our banks would be nowhere without their customers.
So I’m warning my bank: despite your lazy assumptions, I am not a decrepit old fool who can be fobbed off with a chat robot. Unless you up your game, you will lose me the moment a savvy rival recognises that online banking just isn’t for everyone.
The grey revolutionaries are coming. And we demand a cup of tea.
