The Check’s Not in the Mail—a Bank Failure Saga

Last November my husband, Jeff, mailed a payment to one of his vendors. We soon learned that the check had been pinched in the mail and cashed at a local bank. Jeff sent another payment through Zelle, and we no longer send any checks in the mail.

To our surprise, our bank, “Bank A,” didn’t refund the stolen money—more than $2,600.00. In contrast, they had been very good about covering any losses from a compromised credit card. They now claimed they could do nothing until the bank that had cashed the check did their own investigation, which might take up to ninety days. This seemed outrageous, but we had our lives to live. We waited.

The months ticked by. Fall turned to winter; winter turned to spring; spring burst into summer. Jeff’s repeated inquiries with Bank A over the phone and in person yielded a big fat nothing. Instead, they continued to point the finger at “Bank B,” which was clearly flummoxed by the intricacies of this deeply complex “investigation.” Promises by Bank A to escalate the matter were so much dust in the wind. By the way, these two banks are among the largest in the country, each with trillions in assets. I was reminded of the famous government argument to bail out large corporations during the 2009 recession, because some companies were just “too big to fail.” Now I began to wonder, perhaps some companies were just too big to succeed.

Now, older and I hope wiser, I chose not to let the bank saga rob me of my menuchat hanefesh—my emotional tranquility. It’s just too valuable. In a way, I felt this situation was a test.

After nine months, I gave myself permission to become angry. I have never reacted well to situations where I am ignored, stonewalled, dismissed, patronized, or otherwise given the bum’s rush. In cases like this over the years, I’d raise my voice and speak very harshly, enjoying my ability to rake someone over the coals but also knowing that anger is a really bad middah (character trait) and that I needed to tone it down. Now, older and I hope wiser, I chose not to let the bank saga rob me of my menuchat hanefesh—my emotional tranquility. It’s just too valuable. In a way, I felt this situation was a test.

Still, we had banked with Bank A for more than twenty years, and it was time to push harder after nearly a year of polite but pointless inquiries. Just short of a “make my day” mindset, I strode into a local branch, metaphorical guns blazing. I demanded to speak to the manager, who came out from her office, looking alarmed. She invited me to sit down in an outer cubicle, clearly not wanting to be locked up with an unknown and possibly dangerous customer in her private office. Through nearly gritted teeth I said, “I’m not leaving until I know you have done something to help me with this case. The bank’s behavior has been appalling.” My anger was real, but I watched my tone. It wasn’t easy. 

After hearing me out, she reached “Mary” from the corporate office. Mary assured me that this was now marked an URGENT situation, and with satisfaction, I jotted down my newly issued case number, as well as Mary’s phone number and extension. Mary invited me to call if I needed any further help and promised I’d hear from someone within a week. 

I did. Another lackey from corporate called singing the same chorus: they could do nothing without hearing from Bank B. This was so insulting that I hung up on her. Yes, that was rude and I shouldn’t have done it. Following that, Bank A sent us a letter saying that if Bank B didn’t conclude their investigation within another ninety days, they would close our case and we would not recover our money. Say what? So much for the URGENT tag on the file folder. I left three messages with Mary. She never called back.  

I decided to explore possible legal remedies. This was no longer about the money; it was about my refusal to let this King Kong of a financial institution treat us so shabbily. Fortunately, in my research I learned about the Comptroller of the Currency, a government agency that oversees the nation’s banks, where I could file formal complaints. I loved the threatening-sounding name of the agency, went online, and got busy writing my carefully documented complaints against each bank. A friend of mine who is a local business attorney helpfully showed me that on page eighteen of their own checking account customer agreement, Bank A was violating their implied promise to protect clients in a circumstance like this. This was duly noted in my complaint. A few days after filing, my complaint against Bank B was rejected, as we were not their customers (and never, ever will be). But—voila! Within a few days, Bank A bolted awake from their customer service coma, suddenly dancing as fast as if someone were aiming a six-shooter at their Ferragamo loafers. We received a new letter from them, sourly announcing the return of our stolen funds. They offered no apology for their lack of responsiveness or our inconvenience.

At long last. At the point of a government gun.

We’ve all faced situations like this, where we as individuals are stopped by an Iron Curtain of a soulless bureaucracy (large or small), one that refuses to listen to us, refuses to use common sense or to right a wrong. We feel demeaned when we are treated as if we don’t exist or don’t count. And when we have been loyal customers for many years, this treatment only adds insult to injury. 

I believe in fighting the good fight, in forcing people to be accountable, and I encourage others to take reasonable measures toward that end. But as I’ve learned from long experience, while I cannot control any institution’s inept or crooked behavior, I can control how much I’ll allow it to leach from my menuchat hanefesh. That belongs to me and will always be preciously guarded.

Judy Gruen’s most recent book is The Skeptic and the Rabbi: Falling in Love with Faith.