Just got this in my email. Enjoy!
* * * * * *
Four months ago, I emigrated from Cambridge, England to Amsterdam, Holland.
Emigration requires at the destination the resumption of the organised necessities of life - such as, for example, a bank account.
There are three main banks in Holland - ABN AMRO, Postbank and Rabobank. (My commiserations to any banking entity not making my list).
On the basis of an almost nonexistent set of reviews for these banks and their services, I chose ABN AMRO.
Fast-forward nearly four months to this most recent weekend.
I unfortunately suffer from a hopefully transient neurological deficit which means my working memory is seriously impaired. (Something that happens naturally, it seems to me, to people as they move toward the slower realms of advancing age, so I think I am not alone in this deficit.)
As such, I forgot my Dutch PIN.
I wanted to phone ABN AMRO, to ask them to change my PIN. Unfortunately, where the rental market is Amsterdam is nonexistent (State intervention in the market has eliminated the market), I have not yet settled into a place of my own and so do not have a fixed land line - only a Dutch SIM mobile.
ABN AMRO offer two customer service numbers; one for use inside Holland, one for use internationally. The internal number cannot be called from my mobile. I do not know why. The international number detects you are calling from Holland and after a short, polite, Eddiesque message - "you're calling from Holland! I have to disconnect you immediately! share and enjoy!" *click* - and so I cannot phone the bank.
This is of course a risk; don't needlessly eliminate redundancy in your systems.
So, I have to travel, physically, to a branch. Fortunately, I'm young and healthy in body and traveling is not an issue.
I arrive at the bank -- on Saturday, naturally, since I do not wish to take a day off work just to visit.
I queue for a while. Dutch banks like that. I'm eventually approached by a Rutger Hauer look-a-like. I ask to change my PIN.
"Oh no, no...you're thinking you can change your PIN? no."
"I can't change my PIN? but then how do I make my card work again?"
"All we can do is issue you a new card. It takes three days. There's a charge."
I note in the UK, card issuing is free and you can change your PIN over the phone. Perhaps if card issuing here was free, you would also miraculously suddenly be able to change your PIN.
"Well, I need some money now - I don't have any cash on me and I need to do shopping and I can't use my card."
"Oh no, no...you're thinking you can withdraw money? no."
"I can't withdraw MONEY?!?"
"Not on the weekend. You have to come during the week. To this branch or one of two others in Amsterdam. No other branches provide money. And no branches provide money on the weekend."
(At this point, Rutger was looking at me as if I was slightly insane. Clearly, I had picked up in the UK some dangerous Anglo-Saxon notions of banking service, along the lines of being able to withdraw my money from my account).
"Look, I need to pay my rent. Can I transfer some money?"
"Oh no, no...you're thinking you can transfer money? no."
"I can't transfer money!?"
"No. You can only transfer money on-line and you must have your card and PIN. Also, there's a charge."
"So...I can't withdraw money and I can't transfer money?"
"That's right."
(I looked around, warily, to check I had not fallen into a re-enactment of The Castle and was being mistaken for the protagonist. Alas, it was just an ABN AMRO branch.)
"Okay, let me think...okay - if I closed my account, it has money in it now, what would happen to that money? you'd have to send it somewhere?"
"Yes. If you close your account, we will transfer the money to the account you specify. It'll take a few weeks."
"A FEW WEEKS??!?!?"
"Yes. The account is closed immediately of course, but there are checks and so on that we need to do. There is much bureaucracy that must be done. It takes a few weeks before the money is transfered."
At this point I realised that I was reflexively clenching and unclenching my fist and it seemed a prudent time to depart, lest the headlines -- "Embittered AMRO customer slays ten in money withdrawal horror!" "AMRO says -- we never expected people to forget their PIN!"
RISKS? single point of failure upon an entirely plausible failure mode (losing the PIN) with no fallback behaviour. If for any reason you forget your PIN, you can find yourself absolutely shut out of your account --unable to withdraw money, unable to transfer money and even closing the account, the final recourse, is arranged such that your funds are sequestered. You literally have no access to your money. Like most people, I need to eat and get grumpy when I'm starved for two days.
Furthermore, I now have the choice of paying a charge for a new card, which I will use exactly once, to transfer my funds to my new Rabobank account before closing my ABN AMRO account, or actually physically withdrawing a couple of thousands euros and *walking* it across to my new bank to deposit it.
BTW, depositing cash into a Dutch bank? there's a charge.
* * * * * *
Four months ago, I emigrated from Cambridge, England to Amsterdam, Holland.
Emigration requires at the destination the resumption of the organised necessities of life - such as, for example, a bank account.
There are three main banks in Holland - ABN AMRO, Postbank and Rabobank. (My commiserations to any banking entity not making my list).
On the basis of an almost nonexistent set of reviews for these banks and their services, I chose ABN AMRO.
Fast-forward nearly four months to this most recent weekend.
I unfortunately suffer from a hopefully transient neurological deficit which means my working memory is seriously impaired. (Something that happens naturally, it seems to me, to people as they move toward the slower realms of advancing age, so I think I am not alone in this deficit.)
As such, I forgot my Dutch PIN.
I wanted to phone ABN AMRO, to ask them to change my PIN. Unfortunately, where the rental market is Amsterdam is nonexistent (State intervention in the market has eliminated the market), I have not yet settled into a place of my own and so do not have a fixed land line - only a Dutch SIM mobile.
ABN AMRO offer two customer service numbers; one for use inside Holland, one for use internationally. The internal number cannot be called from my mobile. I do not know why. The international number detects you are calling from Holland and after a short, polite, Eddiesque message - "you're calling from Holland! I have to disconnect you immediately! share and enjoy!" *click* - and so I cannot phone the bank.
This is of course a risk; don't needlessly eliminate redundancy in your systems.
So, I have to travel, physically, to a branch. Fortunately, I'm young and healthy in body and traveling is not an issue.
I arrive at the bank -- on Saturday, naturally, since I do not wish to take a day off work just to visit.
I queue for a while. Dutch banks like that. I'm eventually approached by a Rutger Hauer look-a-like. I ask to change my PIN.
"Oh no, no...you're thinking you can change your PIN? no."
"I can't change my PIN? but then how do I make my card work again?"
"All we can do is issue you a new card. It takes three days. There's a charge."
I note in the UK, card issuing is free and you can change your PIN over the phone. Perhaps if card issuing here was free, you would also miraculously suddenly be able to change your PIN.
"Well, I need some money now - I don't have any cash on me and I need to do shopping and I can't use my card."
"Oh no, no...you're thinking you can withdraw money? no."
"I can't withdraw MONEY?!?"
"Not on the weekend. You have to come during the week. To this branch or one of two others in Amsterdam. No other branches provide money. And no branches provide money on the weekend."
(At this point, Rutger was looking at me as if I was slightly insane. Clearly, I had picked up in the UK some dangerous Anglo-Saxon notions of banking service, along the lines of being able to withdraw my money from my account).
"Look, I need to pay my rent. Can I transfer some money?"
"Oh no, no...you're thinking you can transfer money? no."
"I can't transfer money!?"
"No. You can only transfer money on-line and you must have your card and PIN. Also, there's a charge."
"So...I can't withdraw money and I can't transfer money?"
"That's right."
(I looked around, warily, to check I had not fallen into a re-enactment of The Castle and was being mistaken for the protagonist. Alas, it was just an ABN AMRO branch.)
"Okay, let me think...okay - if I closed my account, it has money in it now, what would happen to that money? you'd have to send it somewhere?"
"Yes. If you close your account, we will transfer the money to the account you specify. It'll take a few weeks."
"A FEW WEEKS??!?!?"
"Yes. The account is closed immediately of course, but there are checks and so on that we need to do. There is much bureaucracy that must be done. It takes a few weeks before the money is transfered."
At this point I realised that I was reflexively clenching and unclenching my fist and it seemed a prudent time to depart, lest the headlines -- "Embittered AMRO customer slays ten in money withdrawal horror!" "AMRO says -- we never expected people to forget their PIN!"
RISKS? single point of failure upon an entirely plausible failure mode (losing the PIN) with no fallback behaviour. If for any reason you forget your PIN, you can find yourself absolutely shut out of your account --unable to withdraw money, unable to transfer money and even closing the account, the final recourse, is arranged such that your funds are sequestered. You literally have no access to your money. Like most people, I need to eat and get grumpy when I'm starved for two days.
Furthermore, I now have the choice of paying a charge for a new card, which I will use exactly once, to transfer my funds to my new Rabobank account before closing my ABN AMRO account, or actually physically withdrawing a couple of thousands euros and *walking* it across to my new bank to deposit it.
BTW, depositing cash into a Dutch bank? there's a charge.
