The internet banking problem that can apparently only be solved by writing a letter – Susan Morrison

The little security token I use for my bank suddenly died. Battery’s probably gone.
Susan Morrison gave up trying to get help from her bank, online or by phone, and wrote a letter insteadSusan Morrison gave up trying to get help from her bank, online or by phone, and wrote a letter instead
Susan Morrison gave up trying to get help from her bank, online or by phone, and wrote a letter instead

Order a new one. Should be straightforward. After all, the bank in question is very co-operative. It’s in their name.

Perhaps an email? Check the website. No help there, unless you log on to the secure area, which I can’t because, well, my little token doesn’t work.

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There’s a new app, but I can’t register because… oh, you’ve guessed.

Perhaps I could go into a branch? Nope. I think it's a wine bar now. Look at my old Bank of Scotland. It's an Indian takeaway today.

Ah, I thought, the phone. In a nice touch, the automated voice was just as bossy as an old-fashioned bank teller. She demanded account details and rattled out options with all the charm of a Belarussian border guard.

I was winning Call Centre Press Option Bingo, until I hit the wrong number and had to start again. Twice. Finally, got the right department. Well, the phone queue for the right department.

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Mrs Bossy said they were “experiencing unusually high volumes of customer queries”. Odd. Last time I called, about three years ago, they were being deluged by customer calls. So it can’t be that unusual.

As a result of this “high volume”, she said, average call waiting times were approximately 25 minutes.

No, no they weren’t. I hung on, grimly. My call was important to me. I was in it for the long haul. And long it was. Glaciers could have formed and melted, empires risen and collapsed. I could have read War and Peace in the original, having used the time to learn Russian.

The woman kept coming on to say only “25 minutes”, luring me into staying on the line.

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Not proud to admit this, but exhausted, crushed, and faintly scared of that woman, I baled.

Defeated by all forms of 21st century communications, I fell back on the time-honoured tradition of writing a letter.

Should they require further information, I included my telephone number, with the assurance that waiting times for incoming calls are approximately 35 seconds.

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