I was 25, lonely and broke in October 1995, when I bounced three checks in as many days. My landlord had managed to cash my rent check early, though I had dated it for the following week. In quick succession, checks to my insurance, credit card, and phone companies each bounced.
My bad luck did not stun me as much as the note I received from my bank the next week. They had penalized me $20 for each bounce. Since each company had twice tried to cash my checks, the bank was charging me $120. And since everyone who received a bad check also charged me $20, I was set back a total of one hundred and eighty dollars for my sloppy bookkeeping.
My mind snapped.
What could be more hateful than bounced check fees? They are petty, pointless strikes against people who have just demonstrated they are broke. Banks charging money from people who bounce checks is like an optician refusing to give out glasses until patients beat him in a game of darts.
Even worse, the charges came from Baybank of Massachusetts (now BankBoston), which, I think is fair to say, was the most evil bank in the world ever, counting the Swiss banks that made money off of Holocaust victims and the Bank of Satan in Hell.
More than any other bank I know, BayBank exploited its huge size to charge the life out of its clients: Customers paid $10 a month for a checking account, $2 for every transaction at a non-Baybank automatic teller machine, fifty cents to check a balance by phone, and more money for your checks than any bank I'd ever used.
Their dirtiest trick: BayBank gave customers a $500 credit line, which worked like this: If you had $10 in your checking account and wrote a check for $20, you used $10 of your credit line automatically. Your check doesn't bounce, but there's also no notice from the bank until your monthly statement. HOWEVER, if you then deposited $1000 into your checking account, all $1000 went into checking, and your credit account remained unpaid. You needed to phone the bank, or visit, and specifically request that your money from checking be used to pay off the credit line. Otherwise the credit debt just sat there, quietly mounting 18.5% interest. I used up my $500 credit in about a month.
And, of course, there was the $20 charge per bounce.
It would have been so easy to scream at the walls and curse the bank's founders until I ran out of breath. But rather than waste my energy, I focused on fighting back. I resolved at that moment that I would not pay those fines.
A minor obstacle stood in my path: I was indisputably in the wrong. However, I was also inspired with a strong conviction that I was the victim. In disputes over minor fines, I never blame the party with less money, particularly when it's me. Sure, I broke the rules with the big boys, I thought, but who made the rules to start with?
So I resorted to a simple strategy I always use when logic is not on my side: Lie. Lie, lie, lie and be insane. Throw yourself off of your own mental rocker, crawl across the floor, phone the bank and say that Princess Diana appeared in your stool and told you not to pay for your checks. You will sound foolish, but a corporate middle manager will gladly cough up a little green to get a lunatic off of the phone.
I set about my task. To break even, I needed $20 each from the phone, insurance and credit card companies and then another $120 from the bank.
I dialed the phone company first. When the operator answered, I summoned an angry, shaking voice, and declared I hadn't had service for the first two weeks after they installed my phone -- an unadulturated lie. They credited $20 to my account without even asking for proof.
Pleased, I phoned the insurance company, and promptly asked the woman who answered to cancel my policy. When asked why, I explained it was because of their "oppressive fees." She transferred me to a manager. The manager and I had a brief discussion, after which she cancelled my $20 charge. Interesting, I reflected, since insurance rates are fixed by the state in Massachusetts, and my accusation of "oppressive fees" would have applied to any other provider just as much.
For the credit card company, Citibank, I tried appealing to the representative as if I were her friend. A frantic, irrational friend, but a friend nonetheless. She told me they were scheduled to try to cash my check again, probably that day, which would result in another bounce.
For a moment, she did not answer. Perhaps I had pushed it with the phrase "typical capitalist agenda," which admittedly, made no sense. But, the operator suddenly "noticed" I had an outstanding credit record, leaving me eligible for them to upgrade my account to a non-annual fee status, thus saving me $20 a year. I accepted, and considered it a victory.
Finally, I phoned the bank of evil. Within a minute, I was transferred to the manager. I typed notes of my conversation as we spoke since I wanted to preseve it.
--Yes, my name is Will Hines. I've bounced three checks in the past week, and would like the penalities dropped. --I'm sorry sir, was there an error in your statement? --No, there was no error. I bounced the checks. --So why do you want the fees dropped? --I feel the fees are unfair. --(a pause). Yes, well, sir. I don't think we can do that. --Why not? --Well, sir, you bounced the checks, and unfortunately, we have a policy of charging $20 for a bounced check. --Actually, you charge $40 a check. --No, we charge... --$20 a bounce, means $40 a check. --Well, yes, if the person that you wrote the check to chooses to try and cash your check more than once, then, yes, we will charge you $20 for each bounce. --But most companies make it a standard policy to try cashing every check twice, right? --Some do, yes, but I can't say... --No, ALL the big ones do. They all try twice. Once the first day, and a second time the next day. Bouncing once invariably means bouncing twice. --I'm sorry you're upset, but... --Why don't you just tell people when they sign up, "We charge $40 for every bounced check"? --I don't think that's necessary. -- You're right. That'd be silly. I mean, who would ever deposit at a bank that charges $40 for a bounced check? Look, I wouldn't even complain if you guys weren't charging me fees every time I turned around. $10 for checking, $2 for non-Baybank ATMs; you even charge fifty cents to check an account balance over the phone! --Sir, have you always had an unpleasant experience with BayBank? --Unpleasant experience? Are you kidding? I've had nothing but! I have a question: if your bank hates me so much, why don't you just throw my account out? --What? Hate you?... --It looks like your bank hates all small accounts. You charge us everywhere you can! Seriously, why don't you guys stay with big accounts only? Someone who makes enough money that you don't mind going out of your way to help them out! Why take an account you don't care about? I mean, if I am SO IMMATURE that I require a $40 SPANKING every time I bounce a check, why did you take me in the first place? Long pause. --Well, sir, since you're had such an unpleasant experience, how about if we erase half the charges - $60?
Only $60? Should I settle for half, I thought? What about my principle of standing up for my rights? All of my neighboring co-workers had stopped typing, and listened for my answer.
Ah, why was I pretending to have principles? I thought. I took the sixty bucks and called it a day. But the vision of the $60 I hadn't been able to recoup hung in my mind.
Before BayBank would actually erase $60 from my debt, I had to say to the representative out loud that BayBank was not at fault. I assume this was to cover them legally. His request for me to say this nauseated me, and I briefly fantasized about suing the entire bank over my bounced check charge. However, my petty, shallow nature surfaced and I took the cash. Still, it was a suprisingly cold, calculating move for a customer service representative, wouldn't you say?
I stopped opening my bank statements after that. Months later, when I moved to New York, I owed BayBank $40. I wrote them a check for $100 -- figuring they would probably have tacked on penalty charges or something by that time, and I just wanted to get rid of them.
Months after that, I phoned to ask if my account had been settled. They told me I had overpaid by $60, and they were waiting to hear from me to determine what to do with the money.(!) I insisted, with an indignant tone, that they return my money at once. When it didn't arrive in a week, I phoned and demanded again.
One month later, through an apparent mix-up in paperwork, I received two checks for $60 -- one more than BayBank owed me.
Standing outside an ATM in midtown Manhattan, I found myself frozen in my footsteps with the feeling of disbelief. I had deposited the checks the previous week, and the checks were supposed to have cleared that day. There's no way, I thought, that this money is actually in my account. That BayBank actually gave me an extra $60.
But a moment later, I stepped forward to the machine, and requested a withdrawal of $60. The machine hummed, clicked, and then rolled three stiff twenties out of its slot. I pulled out the bills, and rubbed my fingers all over the picture of Andrew Jackson. I slid them in my wallet, and to this day, BayBank has not come looking for them. It's victory, I thought, and perhaps, a sign that justice is eventually served to those who will fight.
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Copyright 1997 Will Hines
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