Because You Never Asked

            I have a checking account at one of the banks that inhabit my town. They've recently pissed me off.

            When this essay became an embryo in my mind, I had originally decided not to mention the bank that had pissed me off. But now that the child has been born, I see no reason not to get personal. What the heck . it's a quasi-free country and the free market is a war and if someone rams it up your rear .

            I have a checking account at the Bank of America. I've been banking in this same building for somewhere around 15 years. I say "building" rather than "bank" because I can't remember how many banks have come and gone through this site during that time frame. At the beginning, it was the Barnett Bank, which had operated in the State for more than a century --- big green signs, banking you could trust, experience, they knew Florida, etc and blah, blah. And then . poof! Like a pitcher of beer at a Super Bowl party, they were gone.

            We are now up to the Bank of America. I don't know how much longer this will go on, but I'm sure I'll quickly forget the name, just as I've forgotten the names of the post-Barnett banks that preceded it. There must be more than a dozen sites for banks scattered about my town, and hardly a one has been free of this game of "musical banks". I know every nook, cranny and wrinkle there is to know here, and yet, I cannot direct you to the "Such and Such Bank". "Didn't that used to be the 'So and So Bank'?" The latest entry is something called the Wachovia Bank. This is a strange name for a bank. It sounds more like a sausage company. Can I trust a bank that sounds indigenous to Dracula's homeland?

            Judging from the latest scheme hatched at the solid sounding --- drum roll please --- Bank of America, I don't see how the Wachovia Bank could be any worse. (It's probably about the same.) I would sooner trust the Al Capone Bank than the Bank of America. One thing's for sure: if logos have something to do with anything, Wachovia gets my vote. Every time I pass one of their freshly debuted signs, my gaze is magnetically drawn to the simple yet intricate geometric form that now means Wachovia in my town. It's cool.

Banks are like God. They rule omnipotently from the dignified confines of their marble encrusted buildings. They are low key, luxurious, grandiose . there is almost a sacred quality to the average bank --- all hushed and businesslike --- that conjures up one's concept of the waiting room to Heaven. It is beyond the capacities of a mere mortal to ever challenge any of this. Just stand in line and shut up . or better yet, use the machine outside. We don't need to see you.

            Before relating the incident that caused me to be writing this hollow plea for justice, the following remarks seem pertinent:

            I've written quite a bit, in this mass of dubious philosophical patter, about something known in economic parlance as "deregulation". Essays such as "Privatizations",  "Denial American Style", "Health Care" and numerous others, touch upon this theme. The excuse for deregulation is always premised upon helping the consumer --- more competition, more choice, the market, and other Pravda-like political phrases invented by the one Party that runs this country, the Business Party. After years of study and attention, it could be said that deregulation has become a euphemism for giving the usual robber baron captains of industry a chance to rob even more. In the rarest of instances, some of this might actually benefit the consumer, but that is just an accidental bi-product of all this. The consumer generally continues eating the same shit sandwich it always has, purchased at the drive thru, wrapped in aluminum foil . and all for just 99 cents.

            What a country!

            This deregulatory hucksterism has left a number of industries in shambles. Most notable on this list are the power industry, the health care business, the airline industry, the accounting game, the brokerage hustle, etc. Something tells me this game of "musical banks" is linked to this deregulatory swindling. Let's see how the beloved consumer has faired in the last 15 years.

            .And that segways into the solid sounding Bank of America's latest scam.

            I write a check about once a week and have a modest checking account that fluctuates between 5 and 10 thousand dollars. About three weeks before starting this essay, I ordered some checks. During my latest depository foray to the bank, I realized they had not arrived ("it'll take 3 or 4 days") and inquired about it. The customary rat-a-tat-tat began on the computer keyboard, the teller at the neighboring window assured us she'd ordered them, various and sundry quizzical looks, shoulder shrugs, duh . (I bring this up only to show that the solid sounding Bank of America had already screwed up before getting to the meat of this rant.) The checks were ordered again. As I turned to leave, I was informed they would cost 16 dollars and "have a nice day". I hesitated a moment . but could not resist. "16 dollars for checks! That's more money than this account makes in a whole year." I had unintentionally spoken loud enough so that the people in the long line behind me could hear it. Through some mysterious osmosis inherent in the down trodden everywhere, I immediately felt the warmth and camaraderie of their support.

            Surprisingly enough, the teller was sympathetic. (Let's face it, she's one of the down trodden also.) She conspiratorially leaned forward and told me, in hushed tones, that she has some money in a bank in California and such bank had charged her 5 dollars for not depositing anything for six months. That's a good one, I thought. (She had a plaque on her shirt with her name and place of origin, that being Oxnard, California. They think of everything at the solid sounding Bank of America.)

            That evening, I told this story to a couple of friends. The next day, each one of them sent me E-mail with some information about the solid sounding Bank of America.

            One of these messages contained some data from the Bloomberg Financial Network. I thus learned that bank profits are currently at their highest point in three years, and, lo and behold, the solid sounding Bank of America was #1 on the list.

            The other E-mail spouted some information about the bank's last two 2 CEO's, one Hugh McColl and one Kenneth Lewis. In 1999, McColl's work was compensated in the amount of 48 million dollars. During that same period, the value of a share of the company lost 14% while 10,000 employees lost their jobs. This seems to have ruffled a few feathers amongst the shareholders. The current CEO, Kenneth Lewis, has been asked to rough it. Don't be surprised if you see him on a street corner selling apples. In 2001, he had to make due with only 6.7 million dollars. Can you believe it? (Frankly, I don't. I'm willing to bet that Lewis' net worth, one way or another, shares the same country club with Hugh McColl.)

            But I am neither an employee nor shareholder of any bank. I fall into that vast desert of brain dead business targets, the consumer. Let's examine the course of my banking history in the 15 years since the Barnett Bank became an archeological remain. Undoubtedly, during that time period, the regulatory rules of the game have been loosened, as in just about every industry. The code words are "competition", "choice", the "free market", and other such half-baked strudel. "When banks compete, you win." The propaganda of Marx's "worker's paradise" has been changed into the propaganda of Thatcher-Reagan's "consumer's paradise". The banks come and go and change sites in an endless flow of new logos and public relations gimmicks. They merge, break apart, swallow each other and give forth with the shifting sands of a banking panorama that seems little more than an elusive mirage on the horizon to the helpless, confused consumer.

            Fifteen years ago, my mundane checking account in the old Barnett Bank building earned almost 6% interest . and I ordered checks for free! I now get between 1 and 2% interest and get humiliated with a 16-dollar charge for new checks. Forgive me, but I am still trying to understand how this consumer has profited from all this deregulatory swindling in the banking business. I know, I am not a shrewd investor and could probably squeeze out a better yield from my humble estate if I would get off my ass and comb the Wall Street Journal for some windfall whiff of opportunity, but I'd rather go play tennis. My bad, I know . but still, a bank account is a bank account, and if mine has been so decimated of income, I suspect there are millions of others sinking on the same ship. Perhaps our lack of financial expertise is our just desserts for not having the pecuniary acumen of a Hugh McColl or Kenneth Lewis.

            I decided to do some research based upon the premise that Hugh McColl and Kenneth Lewis are properly compensated with regard to whatever it is they do for the human condition. Given this fact, what does MY work compensation say about MY worth to the human condition? I called in the experts. The computers were worked into an NBA sweat. The numbers were crunched. The Milton Friedman-like equations of economic ambivalence were applied. The verdict was spit out in a confused clatter of Epson C60 print out:

            My worth to the human condition is exactly that of a single barnacle clinging to the rusted hull of an abandoned shipwreck.

            Somewhere out there in this market induced world of "Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire", there are self made people who, through hard work, vision, talent and ambition, can lay some muddled claim to their sumo-sized fortunes, even if they are exaggerated amounts (Bill Gates?). But the preponderance of the evidence points to many more people like Hugh McColl and Kenneth Lewis, who have accomplished little more than to be born into the upper reaches of our social lamination from where they are deposited into the roles they play in our economic ecosystem in much the same way the wind carries seeds and pollen to their destinations in the natural world. Their fortunes, to them, are a natural result of how the world works. It's theirs, they deserve it, it is a part of their birthright.

            But somewhere in the deepest folds of their organisms, buried in the viscous slime of the internal hodge-podge of organs that process their food and separate the nourishment from the waste amidst the endless entwinements and creases of intestines, bladders, urinary tracts and digestive galaxies, there must exist the barely perceptible tickle of both guilt and fear, a microscopic pang of recognition that their fortunes are not in line with their worth as human beings, the barely perceptible blip of fear on the radar screen suggesting that someday this whole socio-economic set up might be challenged and taken down . and the Winter Palace will no longer be theirs.  

back to the Table of Contents

Email: JerryG@postcman.info