Have you noticed how the random people who call you up from banks offering loans and savings schemes are always overwhelmingly bereft of basic intellectual faculties? If there is some cunning ploy behind this, I fail to see it. Not only are these callers profoundly dumb, they are also extremely rude. I got a call from one such specimen an hour ago. The conversation went as follows
Me: hello?
She: Hello. Sir, I am calling from ICICI bank. May I know your name, sir?
Me: Bharat.
She: What?
Me: Bharat.
She: Oh, Karan?
Me: No… BHA-RAT…
She: Okay sir, whatever.
I was so surprised by that that I didn’t know what to say for a moment. She, however, trudged on.
She: Are you interested in a housing loan?
My chance to tick her off was gone. The conversation had moved on.
Me: Um, no..
She: No? NO?
For some strange reason, she was astounded by my lack of interest in a housing loan. I guess in her world view a housing loan is the most important requirement of any sane human being. To refuse a housing loan must be akin to refusing food and water to her.
Me: Yeah, no.
She: Okay, how about a pension plan?
I felt like I was in a store buying clothes. ‘Don’t like the blue jeans? Why don’t you try the obnoxious, horribly out of fashion, flaming red bell bottoms? Look, it even has frills!’
Me: Again, no.
She: NO? *in her mind* Gawd dang it, neither loan, nor pension plan. What is this guy, a lunatic?
Me: You bet, sista.
She: How old are you?
Me: 17
She *without realising the sheer stupidity of offering pension plans to a 17 year old*: Are you sure? Are you in school? 12th?
Me: Yes. Yes. Yes. Now how is that relevant?
She: Can I have your father mother phone number?
Me *wondering what the hell a ‘father mother phone number’ is*: Oh go to hell…
How can they expect people to do business with them when they A) have trouble understanding simple, two syllable names on a clear line; and B) also lack basic courtesy. Instead of apologising or making an effort to get my name by asking me to spell it out or something, she says ‘Okay sir, whatever.’ Whatever. We are oh so touched by the care and attention you’re showering upon us. No really. How will I trust you to handle my money when you can’t pronounce my goddam name?
Secondly, she failed to grasp the simple irony of offering pension plans to a minor. She has taken the whole planning for your future thing far too seriously it appears.
Then there was the guy from the Credit Card department of the same bank who called me up one fine evening some weeks ago.
He: Good evening Mr. Kamal Mehta. I am from ICICI ba-
Me: Yeah yeah, shove it. I’m not interested.
He *in a haughty, reproachful, ha-gotcha-now-biatch voice*: What not interested? The payments on your credit card are due.
Me *genuinely surprised*: My credit card!?
He *same voice, just haughtier and more triumphant*: YES. Your credit card.
Me: I am 17 years old. I don’t even have a bank account you pillock.
He *suddenly not so sure of himself as shit deflates inside*: What? You’re 17?
Me *mimicking him*: YES. I’m 17. And my name is not Kamal Mehta, it’s Babubhai Bhanji.
And I hung up.
They’re thrusting pension plans and card payments on impoverished minors. Screw you, banks.
PS: Mr. Mehta,if you’re reading this by any chance, I hope you exhausted the credit limit on your baby. They apparently don’t have your contact information.
Currently Listening To: Kula Shaker – Grateful When You’re Dead (Jerry Was Here)
