A Bank Teller Mocked My $300 Deposit, So I Closed My Account With $3 Billion
The Encounter at the Counter
My name is John Smith. I went to deposit $300 at a bank’s main branch counter.
Usually, I go to a smaller branch, but this time I had work near the main office. To me, the main office and the branches are the same.
But when I approached the counter, a new bank employee mistook me for a poor man.
“I want to deposit some money.”
“Welcome. Wait, aren’t you a poor man?”
“What?”
“It’s faster to deposit using the machine, old man. Use the machine; it’s right there. Don’t bother anyone; just do it yourself.”
“No, I don’t trust machines.”
“You don’t trust machines in this day and age? Seriously, are you like Rip Van Winkle or something, old man?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Just kidding, just kidding! Don’t you get a joke, man? Just don’t come to the counter; it’s a hassle.”
“A hassle?”
“Yo, it’s a hassle. Look, the counter is for more important stuff.”
“You’re probably not depositing much anyway, being poor and all. It’s really a bother.”
“But that’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Sure, it’s my job, but I’m not here just for you, old man. If you want to deposit, make it a larger amount; then I’d be happy to help.”
The Elitist Teller
“Can’t you just do your job?”
“No way, it’s just a bother. People like you make my job harder.”
“You think we’ll do anything at the counter? That’s a mistake.”
“Other banks would accept my deposit.”
“Then go to another bank. I don’t want to.”
“I mean, you’re just going to use it soon anyway, right? What’s the point of depositing such a small amount? Makes no sense.”
“It’s up to the customer to decide if it’s meaningful, right?”
“What now? You always have something to say.”
“That’s why I dislike old guys, so arrogant.”
“What did you say?”
“All right, all right, fine. I’ll make the deposit. Just fill out this form and bring it here.”
I thought he was incredibly rude, but since I was there, I filled out the deposit slip and brought it to the counter.
“Ah, just as I thought.”
“What now? It’s my line.”
“What’s this? Three? $300? That’s why I hate deposits from poor people.”
“$300 is still money. It’s a bank, after all; you should accept whatever amount the customer wants to deposit.”
“Look, at least deposit like $1,000. If you can’t even do that, what’s the point of coming to the counter, right?”
“Otherwise, just use the machine. It’s much easier once you get the hang of it.”
“No, I prefer the counter.”
“Why are you so stubborn? You drive a car, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What’s the difference between that and the machine? You use a smartphone normally, right? Then you can use that machine too.”
“I’ll make the deposit this time, but next time, please use the machine.”
I was getting increasingly irritated by his attitude. But I figured arguing back with such a young guy would only make me look foolish, so I just scowled.
“Man, why do poor people always make such troublesome deposits? It’s so clear that you’re poor.”
“Look, you’ve been calling me poor for a while now. Don’t you think that’s rude?”
“Why would I think that? It’s true after all.”
“I mean, coming to the bank in work clothes, that’s like screaming, ‘I’m super poor!'”
“Maybe I’m actually incredibly wealthy, you know.”
“Cut the jokes, man. Come on. No rich guy comes in work clothes. That’s just impossible.”
“That’s because I stopped by while working.”
Blue-Collar Bias
“So you’re a blue-collar worker, right? Great folks don’t do that kind of work, you know.”
“Rich people like lawyers or doctors don’t come in work clothes. You won’t see a lawyer in work clothes, that’s for sure.”
“They wear suits for their work, don’t they?”
“Exactly! So those who dress like that are the ones making the money.”
“People like you who always do physical labor will always be poor.”
“Do you treat everyone with this attitude?”
“Of course not. I treat the rich like rich and the poor like poor.”
“Why would I waste VIP treatment on someone who doesn’t deposit much? That’s just ridiculous.”
“So does this bank choose its customers?”
