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Yamabank
by Christopher Wilkinson
2007-01-10 08:32:20 |
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I pulled my little Volkswagen into the parking lot of the local branch of Yamabank. I had come to make a withdrawal, and was more than a little unsure of what the outcome of my visit would be. I locked my car and went into the bank.
The teller was a smiling young woman dressed in a blue pastel dres. She seemed very happy to see me.
“Welcome to Yamabank” she said. “You will be happy to hear that we are offering a special for depositors today. Any funds deposited today will receive a special one thousand percent interest rate over the next five years!”
What an incredible interest rate! I reached into my pockets to see if there was anything I could deposit, but found only a broken pencil and an I.O.U. note from one of my friends.
“I’m sorry I can’t make a deposit today,” I informed her. “Actually, I came to make a withdrawal.”
“I’m sure we can find something to interest you other than a withdrawal,” she smiled. “Perhaps you would be interested in donating your present balance to a worthy cause. You know that Yamabank will then deposit ten times the amount you donate into your own account. It is very much to your advantage to donate your balance.”
I thought about this, but remembered my purpose incoming to the bank. “Your offer is interesting,” I told her, “but I really do want to make a withdrawal.”
Her body stiffened. The smile left her face. “I’m sorry sir,” she told me. “Withdrawals can be made only with the permission of the manager.”
I suspected something like this would happen. “”May I see the manager,” I asked.
“Please go to window number seven and ask the receptionist there,” she pointed in the proper direction.
When I arrived a window number seven I found a very long line, and soon learned from exchanging a few remarks with those in line that all were desirous of making a withdrawal. It would be a long time before I got to see the manager.
When I arrived at the front of the line at last I observed an overweight woman with a deep scowl on her face. She was not happy to see me. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to see the manager about a withdrawal,” I told her.
She reached under the desk and produced a packet of forms. “Please fill these out and wait until you are called,” she told me.
“You don’t even know my name,” I exploded.
“The manager knows who you are,” she said with finality.
I went to the back of the bank and found a small hard seat with a desk attached to it. I pulled out the packed of forms. I found the pencil stub in my pocket and began to fill out the forms. It quickly became evident that it would be hours before I made it through the forms, and the bank would close in a couple of hours. Nonetheless, I worked steadily through the forms until fifteen minutes before closing.
I went back to the line-up for the receptionist, and found that no one was there. I waited for the receptionist to return, but she did not. A guard came up at last.
“Here to make a Withdrawal?” he asked as if he knew the answer.
“Yes, “ I said. “Where is the receptionist?”
“She always leaves early,” he informed me. “Come back tomorrow.”
I looked at the forms in my hands and thought with desperation that I needed to make the withdrawal today. Just then a large and confident man came out of a back office. He was well dressed, and I was sure he must be the manager.
“Excuse me, sir,” I called. “Are you the manager?”
He glanced in my direction, and then started to walk away.
I knew he was the manager. I ran to intercept him, and stood directly in his pathway.
“Yes,” he said dryly, “I am the manager. What do you want?”
“I want to make a withdrawal, and I need it today.” I let him know.
“Today!” he laughed. “Son, some people take years to get withdrawals. Why should we give you anything today?”
“I have been faithfully depositing all my life. I have never asked for a withdrawal. But now I need it very badly. My car is broken. I lost my job. My woman left me. The kids are crying for food. I have nowhere else to go. Why can’t I make just a small withdrawal to tide me over till things turn up?”
He looked concerned for just a moment. He straightened his tie. “Let me tell you something,” he said. “You can’t make a withdrawal at all. Depositor’s accounts are reviewed periodically by the trustees of the bank. When the moment is deemed appropriate they are issued dividends on their accounts. Requests for withdrawals are always denied. My job is to tell people this as gently as possible, so you will get no further by talking to me.”
“Who are the trustees?” I demanded. I was getting very angry, as I had been depositing for so long and now it looked so hopeless.
”The bank does not give that information out,” he told me.
That was when I hit boiling. I grabbed the manager by his tie and tightened my fist. “If I don’t get a withdrawal before you leave this office there will be trouble,” I said harshly.
He laughed. He actually laughed. “Son, he said, “If you wanted to make withdrawals you shouldn’t have deposited with Yamabank. Have you ever heard of anyone getting anything from us on demand? We just take in funds and keep them in accounts. It’s true that sometimes a patron receives a dividend for his efforts, but this is at the discretion of the trustees. I’m afraid that by threatening me you have just done away with any goodwill the trustees might have felt for you. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and try for a loan?”
I knew I was defeated. I also knew that I would never get a loan from Yamabank. I stalked to the door, where the guard let me out with a scowl, since it was after hours. I went up to my little car and kicked the tire. I got in and began to drive away, knowing that I would run out of gas before I reached home.
I ended up abandoning the car. I also gave up on Yamabank completely. What use is there in a bank that only takes your funds and never gives any back, even if the interest rates are higher? Now I keep my funds where I can get them. I hope that this story encourages you to do the same.
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