Paranoia

"Welcome to HSBC, the world's local bank. Please enter your account number followed by hash to ensure quick service."
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.
"Now please enter your sort code, followed by hash."
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
"For your own security, please enter your date of birth"
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.
"And to verify your information, please enter the first, fourth, and next to last digits of your security code."
Beep-beep-beep.
"Now please say the magic word, followed by the first fifteen digits of pi, and spell the name of the capital of Kazakhstan."
....
....
"We're sorry; we did not understand the answer. Please try again."
....
....
"For your own security, we are unable to continue with this transaction, please hang up and call again."
Click.

So went my most recent call to my bank here in the UK. It was really a shame because I know pi to 10 digits. But setting up the account was just as painful as dealing with the automated service. You see, establishing a bank account in the UK is something akin to convincing Joseph McCarthy that you have never said anything disparaging about the United States or its leaders. To be blunt, everyone is absolutely paranoid about security here, both in the financial sector and at the University. Coming from the US, where bank accounts are given out like buy-one-get-one-free coupons to Domino's, it was quite a disagreeable experience to set one up here. Let me give you a brief history of my adventure.

Two days after arriving in the UK, I received in my pidge (pigeon hole, aka college mail box) a letter from the registrar establishing that my wife and I really had a residence in the UK. So we took the letter and our passports to the bank, where there was a 45 minute wait (we were told to leave and come back to check on our progress). Upon our return, we went in to see a fellow who got us accounts. But, of course, there was a fee, because we weren't from the UK. And we couldn't have a joint account because we were not from the UK, and therefore, not real people until we had been living in the UK for at least a year. And we couldn't have credit, for the same reason. And we couldn't have checks, just a debit card, because they didn't feel like giving us checks that day. But nonetheless, we were pleased to have accounts only two days after arriving; we too had already heard of how troublesome it was. So all things considered, our banking experience was going well. The banker told us we would receive our debit cards and PINs in the mail shortly.

About a week later, we received two letters that looked like junk mail. Upon opening them, we were surprised to find each of our debit cards and a note that read "We have disguised this letter to appear usual, for your own security" or something to that effect. Fine with me, though I chuckled a bit. A few days later we received a more obviously worthwhile letter containing the PINs. The way it worked, for our own security of course, was to punch out this little portion at the bottom of the page with black and white static all over it. That area was actually two pieces of paper that separated to reveal (get excited) absolutely nothing.

Perplexed by the apparently empty paper, we pondered what to do. Then, to our joy, we noticed something very faintly written on the paper, almost invisible (and that is no exaggeration). There, with a background of static, was the lightest gray printing revealing a number (aha! you thought I would inadvertently tell you what it was!), 1234. (Aha! fooled again, for that is only a fake!) I kid you not; I really thought the sheet was blank. And it was a good thing they wrote out the numbers in words as well as digits because I honestly could not make out the digits. But of course it was for our own security.

Well, in any case, I was glad to be done with the set-up. Unfortunately, I received another letter the next day. It read, "the date listed on your address verification is incorrect; please go to the nearest HSBC branch with one of the documents listed on the next page to correct the problem." Too bad I didn't have any of those documents. And what did that mean anyway? The date was wrong with my address? So I went back the next day, and asked to see someone. Well, "it's lunch time," said the receptionist, so the wait would be at least an hour. It was two. But I finally got in and showed the banker the same documents I had before. Although the problem is difficult to explain, I will try, because it is really unbelievably stupid and you must hear it.

One of the fields filled in when applying for the account was called "customer from" and required a date; obviously this should be the date the account was established. Well, the date listed was the day we established our account. However, the banker informed me that really the date needed was the day we entered the UK, as stamped on our visas. So we pulled out the visa and inspected. "Ah, I see," says the banker, "I probably would have mistaken that for a 25 as well, but it really says 23." But she didn't change the date to 23. Instead, she asked for the letter from my college, which I produced. "Oh good!" she says, "the date listed here matches the date 25, so I'll just copy this and we'll be fine." Now the confusion seems to have been the college letter (I had two copies, one dated 24, one dated 25). She continued, "See, we just need the letter to match the date in the account." So apparently, since I had used the one dated 24 when setting up the account on the 25th, this was bad. You MUST establish your account on the same day you receive the letter. What if I had been sick that day? Too bad. So anyway, the verdict is this: the field "customer from" doesn't mean "customer from" and the banker can use any number of different criteria to establish what date needs to match what. It doesn't matter if it makes any sense at all. And they can also say that the date must match the visa and then immediately change their mind and say it must match the letter.

So it took me two hours to change the date related to my address, whatever that means. And oh, just to emphasize it, they didn't change the date.

The University is just as bad. Back in the States at university, we had one username and one password to access everything we needed. Here I have three different usernames and six passwords to access different systems. This, of course, is on top of the eight or nine passwords I already have for banking and email and all the rest. Put PINs, security codes, secret questions, and lock combinations on top of that and I have at least 20 numbers to remember on a regular basis. And of course, they encourage these all to be different and want you to change each of them every eight weeks but never write them down. It has been so overwhelming that at one point I thought my wife's computer was not working for about a week simply because I had mixed up some of the passwords. But it is for my own security, so I guess I should just cope.

But I refuse! I am very inclined to believe that all these superfluous usernames and passwords actually cause more harm than good. If everyone working in business in the UK is in the same situation, I cannot imagine how many millions of calls are sent off to India every year just to verify identity and recall a forgotten password. And given wait times here, I'm sure the time wasted is enormous. Sure there's a credit crunch and identity theft is on the rise, but this is just excessive. To be honest, I am absolutely astonished that London ever became a center of banking given the experience I have had with the financial system here. It is set up to maim and kill, not to provide the means for easier transactions. But at least I have my debit card; I have friends who have been here as long as I who still cannot access their funds. Craziness.

So my next big challenge is to conquer the phone banking service. Luckily, I have some parallel training in my current studies. See, in economics things often happen magically. You start with some equation, derive another one, and then poof, the magic number steps in and you have a really pretty answer. So as I practice my wizardry on other people's hypothetical money, perhaps I will gain the skill to answer the bank's automated phone service. Until then, though, I'll just work on learning the next five digits of pi.