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End of affair with Jamaican bank
Published: Friday | May 8, 2009
The Editor, Sir:
When I was a little girl, my aunt from Canada sent me Cdn$10 for Christmas. I was so happy.
Mommy said, "Colette, I'm going to teach you an important lesson." I didn't like the sound of that but I trusted my mother so I said "OK".
Next day, Mom dressed me up in my favourite sailor-girl suit. She put my Cdn$10 in her purse and took me to Barclays Bank. "Colette, money is like a seed," she said. "If you plant it right it will grow. The bank is the place to plant your money."
We joined a short line and she gave my money to a lady behind the counter. I, for some reason, felt sad.
Then the lady gave Mom a little book and when I looked in the book I saw five pounds stamped. I felt sadder. My Cdn$10 had, in an instant, turned into five pounds.
But in those days Jamaican money was English pounds, which were strong and made dollars look puny. Anyway, after Mom explained everything, I felt happy.
Mom took me back to the bank regularly. Every time the teller stamped the book and, like magic, the money grew.
Excited
Mom explained that this was interest. This started a long love affair with the bank. As often as I could, I put money in the bank for the thrill of watching it grow. I loved saving and I loved the bank.
Many years have passed since then; now I'm called a senior citizen. When I go to the bank there is a special little area for seniors like me. We take a number, sit down and wait to be called. Initially, I was very excited about this special treatment, then I realised that, for some reason, though the attending teller is not a senior citizen herself, the line creeps. By the time my number is called I literally feel I've aged, fellow seniors are snoring noisily, those not snoring are grumbling.
Jamaica has changed. The English pound is long gone. The Jamaican dollar has little value and that decreases daily. Regardless, maybe for sentimental reasons, I keep a little money in my chequing and saving accounts.
Yesterday, I received a call from my dear friend, the bank. The bank representative asked if I was Colette Garrick, I affirmed I was. She said, "Mrs Garrick your chequing account is overdrawn $2,105.66. "Yu lie!" I spluttered, "You mean somebody hacked mi account and spending mi money?"
'No madam,' she replied sweetly. "These charges were made by us. Our monthly service charge fees put you into overdraft and the overdraft fee is $1,860.00. If you don't pay the outstanding amount by the end of the month we will be charging you an additional $1,860.00.
"Well kiss mi neck back!" said I. Needless to say, I went to the bank, closed both savings and chequing accounts and am in the process of waterproofing a nice little cardboard box that I have which fits snugly under my bed.
My love affair with Jamaican banks is now officially over.
I am, etc.,
COLETTE GARRICK
Published: Friday | May 8, 2009
The Editor, Sir:
When I was a little girl, my aunt from Canada sent me Cdn$10 for Christmas. I was so happy.
Mommy said, "Colette, I'm going to teach you an important lesson." I didn't like the sound of that but I trusted my mother so I said "OK".
Next day, Mom dressed me up in my favourite sailor-girl suit. She put my Cdn$10 in her purse and took me to Barclays Bank. "Colette, money is like a seed," she said. "If you plant it right it will grow. The bank is the place to plant your money."
We joined a short line and she gave my money to a lady behind the counter. I, for some reason, felt sad.
Then the lady gave Mom a little book and when I looked in the book I saw five pounds stamped. I felt sadder. My Cdn$10 had, in an instant, turned into five pounds.
But in those days Jamaican money was English pounds, which were strong and made dollars look puny. Anyway, after Mom explained everything, I felt happy.
Mom took me back to the bank regularly. Every time the teller stamped the book and, like magic, the money grew.
Excited
Mom explained that this was interest. This started a long love affair with the bank. As often as I could, I put money in the bank for the thrill of watching it grow. I loved saving and I loved the bank.
Many years have passed since then; now I'm called a senior citizen. When I go to the bank there is a special little area for seniors like me. We take a number, sit down and wait to be called. Initially, I was very excited about this special treatment, then I realised that, for some reason, though the attending teller is not a senior citizen herself, the line creeps. By the time my number is called I literally feel I've aged, fellow seniors are snoring noisily, those not snoring are grumbling.
Jamaica has changed. The English pound is long gone. The Jamaican dollar has little value and that decreases daily. Regardless, maybe for sentimental reasons, I keep a little money in my chequing and saving accounts.
Yesterday, I received a call from my dear friend, the bank. The bank representative asked if I was Colette Garrick, I affirmed I was. She said, "Mrs Garrick your chequing account is overdrawn $2,105.66. "Yu lie!" I spluttered, "You mean somebody hacked mi account and spending mi money?"
'No madam,' she replied sweetly. "These charges were made by us. Our monthly service charge fees put you into overdraft and the overdraft fee is $1,860.00. If you don't pay the outstanding amount by the end of the month we will be charging you an additional $1,860.00.
"Well kiss mi neck back!" said I. Needless to say, I went to the bank, closed both savings and chequing accounts and am in the process of waterproofing a nice little cardboard box that I have which fits snugly under my bed.
My love affair with Jamaican banks is now officially over.
I am, etc.,
COLETTE GARRICK