Our Amicable Divorce

GASP! WHAT? IMPOSSIBLE!

Of course I’m not divorcing that darling husband of 34 years. In fact, I’m sitting next to him on our couch watching the umpteenth night of Olympics solo ice dancing. If our marriage can survive that, then we’re home free.

No, I’m talking about our divorce from our bank of 35 years -since we moved out to Los Angeles, in fact. They shall remain nameless, but their ever-loving-initials are B of A.

The trouble began in November, after paying my 2018 gym fees in the end of October. All of the gym members were notified by email that the gym was closing abruptly before Thanksgiving, taking with them (in my case) almost two grand without looking back. The more rational among you are thinking, “Why didn’t she divorce the gym rather than the bank?”

Starting in December, through painstaking documentation of the theft of this money, I thought the Bank would come to my aid and at the very least, front the money so that I could afford my new gym membership. I would call every two weeks or so to inquire as to the status of my claim, speaking with Juanita, then lovely Rebecca (names changed to protect the innocent). Each person I spoke with was ostensibly “horrified” at the amount of time this claim was taking, their small exhortations of breath audible over the phone, with assurances that they would accelerate my claim, sending it up to the next level. Every time I hung up, I felt better. Finally someone would help me take care of this.

The online claim system is horrible. You can’t upload any documents, and you can’t send emails to find out the status. You have to phone in and sit on hold. I’m not saying I’m the busiest person in the world, but it’s really annoying to have to carve out precious time to sit on hold while the purportedly shocked employee mutes their line, and buffs their nails for 10 minutes before coming back to express more despondency about why this claim hasn’t been settled yet.

On a Friday a week ago, I was told by “Sheila” that I would absolutely hear by Monday evening, or Tuesday morning at the latest. That was a week ago.

It takes a lot to make me lose my cool, but when last Tuesday came and went, I was pretty steamed. I immediately drafted a letter to the B of A Claims P.O. Box, in which I cced the president of B of A, photo below.

Found this little tidbit online.

Brian Thomas Moynihan’s 2017 equity incentive award has been raised to $21.5 million from $18.5 million in 2016.

I can see that ignoring my claim is incentivized by the award listed above. Alongside the information and mailing address was a many-pages long list of irate comments from angry customers like me, who have been ignored and whose claims have gone unanswered. Other websites encouraged me and others to “kick the claim up the poop hill” to CEO Moynihan.

I’m not going to take it any more!

My letter included my stated intention to begin removing myself and my business from his bank if I didn’t receive any response by last Friday. So I started the process earlier, on Wednesday. It’s difficult to disentangle yourself from a banking institution after thirty plus years. Complex, but satisfying. Every keystroke changing online bill pay and direct deposits to my new Credit Union account felt great.

Except every item I moved I relived the humiliation of being taken by the gym, then being taken by the bank.

Ironically, as I typed this blog last night, interspersed with attempting to change various accounts, I received this message from B of A:

When I went to check the message, it indicated that my credit was permanent.