Because of my professional history (26 years with NFR, culminating with five years as editor-in-chief), I consider myself a savvy consumer of banking services. I’m also a natural skeptic, and a woman, making me wary of the “hard sell” coming from anyone who might operate under the assumption that I’m naive. When a pitch comes at me with a curve, I protect the plate.
Recently, though, a banker got around my natural defensiveness, and I ended up with a new credit card and an unexpectedly positive encounter with someone at my bank. Here’s how it happened.
I walked in with $237 in cash destined for my checking account. The odd mix of bills originated as donations from my neighbors to share the cost of our National Night Out barbeque, which I’d organized.
The man who took my deposit wore the countenance of someone with greater responsibilities than a bank teller (no offense intended). I watched his eyes as he scrolled down my accounts, which included two checking accounts, three savings accounts, a custodial savings account for my grandson, a CD, a HELOC, a reserve line, a mortgage, and a credit card. Here we go, I thought, defenses up.
“Your credit card is old,” the man said.
“Old? It’s not fruit,” I replied, taking umbrage with his chosen adjective. Maybe I’m sensitive about the word “old.”
“Credit cards don’t spoil.”
“Actually, they do,” he laughed. “I can get you a better one, better benefits. It will just take a few minutes.”
I considered my plans for the morning. I wasn’t exactly pressed for time.
He rattled off the benefits of a new card, including no foreign transaction fees. Smart of him to mention that, I thought. I had just returned from a month in Montreal. I’d brought plenty of foreign currency with me, but beyond the produce markets, merchants there preferred the ease of the digital transaction. Those foreign transaction fees I’d hoped to avoid found me nonetheless — tiny abrasions, like a razor burn. “If only I had had that card sooner,” I quipped.
“I’m sure you’ll travel again,” he smiled, inviting me to his desk.
We were on a first name basis within seconds of sitting. Ash, short for Ashkar and Jacqueline, “a beautiful name,” he said, without making it icky.
In this context, I view the relationship beginning with the sit-down. And the desk is key. Forget the “hoteling” booths or the open high-top tables. The desk is important because of what it holds: The family pictures, the professional awards, the plants, the tchotchkes — all the important things that reveal and provide potential points of connection. At the desk, we get snapshots of the person with whom we are conducting business. Of course, it’s up to us to form a narrative from those small glimpses, one that provides some meaning.
Ash’s accent told me he hailed from the Middle East, as my ancestors had. He said he was from Egypt, thus the small silver pyramid next to his phone. I noticed the gold in his wedding band and the heavy links of his bracelet. He offered me coffee. I imagined we both might prefer an espresso or a Turkish coffee but the reality of bank lobby coffee is typically bleak, so I declined. Then he asked me about my children and, importantly, he shared with me the names and ages and a brief accounting of his. We felt like friends within 10 minutes, Ash and I, conferring over the joys and challenges of making productive citizens of our respective young-adult offspring.
All of this detail is important because it is the stuff of relationship building. Sure, the sit-down starts in order to solve a problem, but banter blossoms quickly when people open up about personal issues and reveal themselves to another in all of their humanity. Relationships grow easily when we can see ourselves or pieces of our own history in another, even someone we just met and hardly know.
We hear all the time about how people are so different or how our nation is so divided — and don’t you get tired of it? When you share a bit of space with another person, and look at them as a key variation of yourself, both of you human, both of you experiencing joys and challenges, both having goals, you can see their value and you can be assured of yours too. Wouldn’t it be a better world if we all did this all of the time?
“You have an active mind and personality,” Ash said.
“Very nice of you to say that, Ash.”
“You know, you could work here. You could be a teller.”
We shared a smile. Some things are better left unsaid.
Suddenly, as if attempting to flatten an ant, Ash put his finger on my car key, which I’d set on his desk when I first sat down. He wheeled around to fetch his own and placed it next to mine. Another point of connection: We both drive cars by the same German manufacturer. His, a 2016 model; mine, what feels like an antique from 2007. “But it still runs great,” I assured him.
Should that change, I know whom to see about a loan.