Break the Bank

Patch is quite the enterprising young lady. She's ten, and she's a hustler. Her net worth is around $400 and she has more cash in her purse than I have in my wallet on any given day. Also in that purse are various gift cards for local arts and crafts shops as well as coupon cut-outs.

A few weeks ago I found a piece of paper on my bedside table. It was an invitation for a Party / Art Exhibit, to be held a few days later in Patch's room. She assured all invitees that refreshments and music will be provided while we examine her artwork plastered all over the walls. At the very bottom of the invite, in bold letters, was: DONATIONS ACCEPTED!

Needless to say, her mom and I each dropped a five in her Donations Bowl. Her older sister begrudgingly put in a dollar and proceeded to eat more than a dollar's worth of cookies. Oh, and Patch bought all the refreshments herself.

Speaking of buying refreshments, Patch got it in her head to buy a bag of licorice. Then she asked me how to make a profit from it. I taught her how to divide the price of the bag by the number of candies in the bag to determine the unit cost, and then how to adjust her price accordingly. Turns out each licorice cost her seven cents, and she immediately advertised to her older sister that she was selling licorice at fifteen cents a strand. In a week she got $7 off a $3.50 investment. She then bought a bag of those mini Three Musketeers bars with her profit and repeated the exercise.

Like many young children, she routinely goes through the couches, the laundry room, my bedside table, etc., hunting for loose change. And she accumulates it, believe me. Every couple of weeks she'll ask me if we can stop by a bank on our Saturday morning errands to cash in her coins. She'll have a bag of 40 quarters, or one of 50 dimes, or whatnot, and she likes converting it to good old greenbacks.

Last month she asked me again. We normally bank with Chase, since it was right in the center of town in the town we lived in twenty years ago when we were engaged to be married. Now the nearest Chase is a couple towns over. However, downtown, within walking distance of our home, are two other banks, M&T and Valley National. M&T has a large parking lot (nearly always empty) which I drive through to hit an ATM when I need cash quickly.

So Patch and I entered the cavernous M&T building at 10 in the morning, she all proud with her bag of quarters weighing her down. There was one suit talking to a woman at a desk, and one teller doing busy stuff behind the massive wall separating us from them. I went up, duly waited until I was acknowledged, then approached, holding the bag of quarters.

"Hi! My daughter here would like to exchange these quarters for a ten dollar bill," I smiled.

The teller immediately parried with: "Do you have an account with us?"

"No." I added, "Do I need one just to exchange some quarters for a ten?"

"Yes. I can't do it for you."

I chuckled and tried some charm. "Look at this face," I said, motioning at Patch. "She worked so hard earning these quarters."

"I can't do it for you."

I paused, and the charm quickly dissolved off my face. "Really? You really can't take these quarters and give her a ten dollar bill?"

"I can't," she insisted.

"I don't believe it," I said, to her stony silence.

The transaction could have been completed in the time she spent parrying my simple request.

"Maybe that's why your bank is always empty," I said, as I led Patch out the door. We walked past the suit who was still with his client. I contemplated saying something as I went by, but I'm not a jerk. He probably didn't even hear what went on as he sat with his prospect.

We went next door to the Valley National Bank, and I faced the same obstacle: "Do you have an account with us?" What is it with these people? I said no and resumed the charm offensive. This time the teller, an older woman, relented, but shoved some brochures in my hand, which I did not mind at all. Patch got her ten dollar bill, plus a lesson in Customer Relations.

I told her that this type of attitude will drive banks to extinction in twenty years, primarily due to the expansion and dominance of online electronic banking. These banks should value any single person walking in through their doors as a veritable treasury of potential. Double so for local clientele. Do they really think they will ever, ever receive good word of mouth from me, ever again, after acting so despicably towards a ten-year-old girl? I know it's small potatoes and means nothing to them in the grand scheme of things (or any of us, really, except for the lesson Patch learned). But if you do it to enough of us, we'll stop patronizing you.

I may not be jerk enough to make a scene over a girl unable to change forty quarters into a ten dollar bill, but I am jerk enough to hope that girl grows up and one day breaks that bank like Soros crushed the Bank of England in the 90s.