Adam Jadhav and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Bank
Posted by Adam Jadhav | Filed under multimedia, notes
Included below: audio narration of parts of the tale; look for the play button.
Apologies in advance for some colorful language. Not intended for underage consumption. Inspired by a true story, protected by opinion privilege, and forgiven because of creative license/satire. And, for the record, the line about the Post-it note is nearly a direct quote.
PROLOGUE
Having just moved to Chicago for the summer, Adam Jadhav needed a bank. Actually, he needed a place to cash checks. And he didn’t really want to pay incredible fees to the seedy pawnbroker down the street from where he lived.
Conveniently, a rather large bank called JPMorgan Chase (hereafter, as “The Bank”) operated a branch on the ground floor of the office building where Adam worked. Adam dropped by one afternoon and learned that The Bank was old and well established.
And thus, on a sweaty Chicago dog day of almost summer in early June of 2003, Adam Jadhav set himself up for the nightmare he currently finds himself in.
All was well for many years, as Adam worked and studied and moved about the country. He even left the country several times — India, Peru, Lebanon, Jamaica, Mexico, Italy. And things remained well.
When Adam moved to Missouri in 2005, Adam learned The Bank had no outlets within 90 miles of his home. But rather than go through the hassle of changing accounts and resetting automatic withdrawals and such, he stuck with The Bank. He considered their reputation and prestige worth it, even though he hated their ATM fees for out-of-network transactions.
If Adam had the benefit of foresight, The Bank would have lost a customer on September 6, 2005, the first working day after Adam moved to Missouri.
Alas, our boy had no crystal ball, and he paid a lot of ATM fees.
For the record, fuck you Chase.
But otherwise, all remained well.
Then, in 2009, Adam got the crazy idea to travel overseas indefinitely. And yet again, he decided to stick with The Bank, believing that one of those “too big to fail” institutions was the right way to go as he moved abroad.
Adam’s faith was misplaced.
CHAPTER 1
Adam left for Kenya in September. He saw his good friend Shannon. He reported. He watched grown men face the terrifying procedure of circumcision because they were also terrified of HIV. Or perhaps as they would admit to a prying Adam, they wanted better sex, and snip-the-tip is rumored to enhance one’s skills.
He went on safari and saw one leopard, two cheetahs and three lions. And many elephants.
Everything was fine.
When he visited Madagascar, everything was fine, too. He saw natural splendor like no other on earth. He witnessed the great forces of globalization. And he was bit by a very cute lemur that disputed Adam’s claim to ownership of a banana left over from breakfast.
He returned to Nairobi to see friends he had left behind at a hostel and continue reporting on stories about some of the poorest people in the world. Karma, perhaps, since this story is ultimately about money.
He saw Shannon again. And he called up a new friend he had made by chance. They played with mud and hippos and bikes and the gates of hell. It was wonderful. Adam used his debit card to pay for that adventure.
The day after, the first sign of trouble appeared.
CHAPTER 2
Present tense, dear reader.
We find Adam drinking an overpriced bottle of wine at an overpriced French restaurant. Unbeknownst to him, he has finally raised the suspicions of The Banks’s fraud detection department; unbeknownst, because though the offending transaction was 36 hours ago, The Bank has given him no warning. No e-mail. No voicemail.
This comes at the worst possible time — when he is having a grand old night on the town, one that is fast burning through his remaining cash. And the town on which he is having this night is Nairobi, sadly one of the most dangerous cities in Africa when the sun goes down and generally not a place one wants to be caught without money. But sure enough, when he tries to use his card to pay for dinner, it is declined.
Adam’s friend is concerned, but Adam has enough cash.
The other acquaintance at the table laughs out loud. This is an indicator of a tangential story, but it’s worth noting. Before the end of the night, this acquaintance named Alex from Australia, will prove himself a giant tool.
Ten minutes later, we see Adam walking back towards a cab where his friend and Alex the Australian are waiting. He is leaving an ATM vestibule and smiles at the security guard as he passes; really, he is trying not to look scared or embarrassed; his card has been rejected again.
But he’s still got some cash left, so the three head off to a bar; Adam doesn’t want this to ruin the night. He thinks surely he can sort this out by phone.
Standing outside Havana, a bar in the semi-posh Westlands district of Nairobi — where partygoers flock to clubs and security guards prowl the sidewalks shooing off begging kids and unsavory characters — Adam waves his friends in. He’ll be there in a moment.
Adam’s cell phone-cum-clock informs him that it’s 11:18 p.m. in Nairobi, again, not the time to be without resources. And, for reasons that will become clear in a moment, he notes that the time difference means it is 3:18 p.m. back home in the Midwest.
After many minutes of waiting and button pressing and menu-options and more buttons and more waiting, Adam connects to a telephone banker who verifies that Adam must indeed be THE Adam Jadhav, for he quickly coughs up the requisite knowledge of addresses and last-fours-of-socials and DOBs and mother’s maiden names and favorite colors, etc.
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Click the play button to hear Adam narrate parts of his story
Hooray!
Adam quickly explains his problem to a pleasant sounding woman on the other end of the line, presumably many thousands of miles away. She doesn’t have a funny accent at all — he’s rather good at noticing when, for example, Indians in call centers try to sound American and end up approximating a British John Wayne with plugs up his nose — so he assumes she is actually in the United States.
He tells this woman, Erica, that for six weeks he had been traveling overseas, using his debit card without issue. And then, without warning, it stopped working and he fears for his savings, which he had transferred to his checking account to support himself during his travels.
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And by the way, Miss Erica, I’m also a little worried, because I’m in Nairobi, which, if you haven’t heard, isn’t exactly a place you want to be stranded at night with no cash.
This leaves me slightly honked off, because I was having a good time with a new fantastic friend (despite Alex the Australian) and now that evening is in jeopardy due to dwindling funds.
All of this, without so much as an e-mail or a phone message. And I know, because my phone messages are e-mailed to me.
Erica is very apologetic. Adam himself apologizes for being heated. He understands that she is a person who answers a phone, not the person who makes the rules over at The Bank.
Erica informs him, rather nonchalantly considering the implication of the news she is delivering, that the system is down. This vexes him greatly.
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Huh?
Yes, Erica says, the system is down so there is no way for her to investigate the situation.
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What does that mean? You’re telling me that there’s nothing you can do? That I’ve been on hold, on a rather fucking expensive international call, and there’s absolutely zero you can do?
Erica says, more or less, that Adam has sussed out the situation. And oh, by the way, would he like a collect number to use so that he isn’t charged for the call?
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Have you ever tried to make a U.S. collect call from a prepaid cell phone?
No, Erica admits. She hasn’t. Perhaps Adam should find a phone booth?
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Capital idea. (Adam has been listening to too many British people these days.) I’ll stroll down the dark streets of Nairobi looking for the public phone that doesn’t exist.
Erica informs him that it will be necessary for him to call back in 30 minutes.
Adam’s righteous anger, which heretofore had just barely been contained like the boiling water in a teapot that is whistling and shaking so violently you are almost afraid to lift it from the burner and do so most gingerly, explodes. Channeling Jackson, he’s a mushroom cloud. He’s Superfly TNT. He’s the Guns of the Navarone.
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Erica — and please understand that I know none of this is your fault, but you are paid to pick up the phone and listen to people so forgive me as you hear me rant — I’m royally fucking pissed off here. Again, I’m in Nairobi and you fine, moronic, brilliant idiots have managed to separate me from each and every one of the several thousand dollars that belong to me. And you’re telling me that at 3 p.m. Chicago time on a fucking Monday, not a holiday, not a weekend, not a scheduled overnight period of system maintenance, no, we’re talking about the middle of the goddamned afternoon, during bankers’ hours, which ironically were conveniently named after your incredible industry, the system is down. No explanation, no contingency, no terrorist attack I’m assuming since you did pick up the phone, but just down. Down, down, down.
Now, dear reader, understand that Adam, in this particular moment, feels each word leave his mouth like a machine might lay a brick sidewalk, quickly and with punch. But, we must also admit, that Adam was perhaps slightly intoxicated and angry enough that the above passage didn’t come out perfectly like that and probably had a few more expletives, Adam being known for his invective and salty language.
He cuts quite an amusing figure as he stomps about outside the bar where Alex the Australian is ardently trying to get lucky with Adam’s friend.
Sir, Erica says, there’s no way to access the system right now. She asks, is there anything else she can help Adam with at this time.
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It’s funny Erica; I know you have to ask that. There’s probably some computer prompt that reminds you to always offer to the help the customer just before he’s going to hang up. I worked at a call center once. It’s all about what the computer says. I get it. Perhaps there’s even a boss sitting in a cubicle behind glass, monitoring conversations for quality control.
In fact, I hope he or she hears this. Because I’ll tell you what you can do. And please write this down, and try to get it to someone who will actually register my anger at this moment. What you can do for me is get a stupid fucking Chase executive, maybe someone like a vice president — that should be high enough up on the corporate ladder — to fly over here to Nairobi to personally deliver me some money, or a new debit card that works, or perhaps even a nice Cuban cigar, because that is about the only way you can help me just now.
Erica laughs. Adam does, too. She has taken his verbal abuse in stride and he is thankful.
I’ll see what I can do, she says. Adam says he’ll call back in a bit.
CHAPTER 3
Adam returned home very late that evening (actually early that morning), having exhausted his last Kenyan shillings paying for Alex the Australian’s cab ride home after he himself had exhausted his shillings trying to buy the favor of (and also grope) Adam’s friend. Adam actually bought the guy’s last drink as well.
Alex was a misogynist toolbox. Not just a not a tool, but a whole damned box of tools.
By the end of the night, everyone, save the Australian, but even the cabbie who got jerked around, was tired.
Adam called The Bank, hoping that the system was up, and it was. After much rigmarole and more proving of his identity, he was put on hold. And then transferred finally to someone who could reactivate his card.
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My phone is almost out of time here and given that it’s 4 a.m. here in Kenya I can’t exactly refill it now.
The woman on the end of the line, a very pleasant woman, though not the pleasant woman from earlier in the evening, asked if he’d like the collect call number so that he could…
Safaricom cut in; Adam needed to recharge his mobile account.
CHAPTER 4
The next day, Adam dipped into his emergency stash of U.S. dollars, converted several, added minutes to his phone, called The Bank, sorted the whole thing out with minimal yelling, and got back to an ATM.
He had a great final two days in Kenya and proceeded to India with no problems.
He once again could use his card without issue.
CHAPTER 5
And into present tense again. Adam is sick in a budget hotel bed in Delhi. It feels like the flu. He jokes to a friend that swine flu is popular here.
Having slept for many hours, he now entertains himself with the Internet and looks over maps of potential apartments.
Doing a bit of budgeting, he checks his account balance online, then on a whim scrolls down the page and notices two transactions that puzzle him. They aren’t ATM transactions, which is odd, because he rarely swipes his card owing to the fact that credit card machines are less common in his present environs.
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BETAMAX VOIP COLO 10/15 in the amount of $154.48? What the fuck is that?
And there’s another charge of $77 and some change by the some company. Both apparently were made in Euros. He hasn’t been in a country that uses Euros since 2004.
Adam waits until the call center opens in the U.S. and calls The Bank. Again, from a prepaid cell phone.
A man who doesn’t enunciate, which will cause Adam to constantly ask the man to repeat himself, answers and Adam jumps through the id, ego and superego hoops of self-identification. He briefly finds this amusing. Descartes 2.0: I know the last four of my Social Security number as well as my zipcodebirthdatemother’smaidennamenameoffirstpet therefore I am.
The man begins to ask Adam about the transaction. Adam obliges.
The man asks to place Adam on hold while he looks up more information about the “vendor.”
Adam doesn’t inform the man, figuring it will only require more explanation, that he has already Googled appropriately and found numerous indicators pointing to a company that has been accused of fraudulent billing.
The man returns to inform Adam that it’s apparently a telecom company. Adam says he figured that much from the VOIP reference. Adam again swears that he didn’t authorize the transactions, so could The Bank please void them.
The man says that to do this, The Bank will have to cancel Adam’s debit card and issue a new one.
Adam balks. He has already explained that he is overseas and now doesn’t like this idea.
The man seems not to follow the yellow brick logical road.
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Again, I am overseas. That means that if you cancel my card, you cut me off from all my, meager though they may be, financial resources. There hasn’t been another fraudulent charge since that October 15 one, so can’t you just cancel the payments without shutting down my card?
The man doesn’t think so, but he’ll check. More holding. Adam thinks about his prepaid cell phone account and wonders how many rupees burn away.
The man returns to say that no, he can’t just cancel those payments. If someone has used the card fraudulently, a new number must be issued.
However, during the next exchange, Adam learns that The Bank cannot ship a new card overseas. The man suggests that they ship it to the address on file, Adam’s mother’s address; she would then have to ship it to him, which neither solves the problem of him being without funds nor the secondary problem of where to actually ship it since secure mail isn’t what you would call routine here in India.
The man suggests that Adam file a claim when he returns home.
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That will be in about a year. Can I dispute these charges then?
Please hold, the man says. He returns quickly. No. Adam and the man go back and forth, during which time the man tries to interrupt Adam, which serves no purpose except to stoke a roaring fire. Adam finally rebukes him for this.
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Please. I know that the connection might not be great. For example, when you speak, I can barely understand you. Perhaps we should blame the wires for this, though I am perfectly confident it’s you’re inability to enunciate. But when I am talking, shut up. This is an international call for me. [man tries to interrupt with collect call number] No, prepaid cell phone, my friend, and so I’d like to be able to make my point without you cutting me the fuck off.
Adam asks the man if he can return this call at his international number, since incoming calls are free. The man says no, there’s not a system for that.
After this, Adam’s anger returns to its corner for smelling salts, a towel and the next bell.
The man says he’s not sure what to do next. If Adam likes, he can start the process of canceling the card.
Ding. Three Mile Island takes place localized entirely in a small room in Paharganj, New Delhi. Gorgeous George comes out swinging.
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So let me get this straight, you propose that you cut off my debit card yet you have no way to get me a new card. Nevermind the fact that I’m traveling and don’t know what address you could actually send said card to me at. I was under the distinct impression that Chase is one of the largest banks in the U.S. And I know for a fact that your bank used billions of dollars of U.S. government money — i.e. U.S. taxpayer money, i.e. my money — to essentially do bank acquisition and pay your employees better. And yet you can’t seem to assist me in the least.
What exactly do you do when you have customers traveling overseas? Just not help them? I mean this almost seems like you really don’t want me as a customer. And yet you have several thousand dollars of my savings in your greedy, not-so-little coffers. I mean seriously, what the fuck? Excuse my language, or don’t excuse it, I don’t really care if I offend you at this point, but what the fuck are you people doing?
And on that last point, I know that you don’t make the rules, you’re someone who answers the phones and listens to people who probably complain a lot, but I’m hoping that my absolute anger that I’m expressing to you somehow gets higher up the goddamned corporate ladder. I’m completely serious. If you have any way at all of recording “customer absolutely disgusted” or “customer irate” or “customer repeatedly said fuck,” then record away. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Put that on a Post-it and press it against the window of your boss’ office, attributable to me, Adam Franklin Jadhav.
The man calmly — good chap to keep his cool — replies that he doesn’t think that will be possible.
Long silence.
The man tentatively, addressing Adam as sir now — as though this last bit of deference will change anything the man should have gleaned about Adam’s general disposition — asks: Should he start a claim to cancel the debit card?
Adam says no.
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I’m going to hang up now, but I’d like the number of your boss’ boss’ boss, that should get me sufficiently high up the food chain, because this is really fucking stupid. Not you, but the system. Really. Fucking. Stoo. Pid. I get that The Bank doesn’t want to endlessly pay out for fraudulent transactions, fine, but this particular company seems to rely on your good graces to charge away, and yet you have no alternative for your paying customers — yes, you use my money without giving me interest, that is tantamount to me paying you — who are overseas when something like this occurs, so please, I’d like the number of someone significantly more important than you to whom I can formally register my utmost disgust.
The man offers to put Adam on hold connect him to a customer something-something. He didn’t enunciate.
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No, again, international call, money, etc. so just give me the fucking number and I’ll recharge my cell phone and go give that person a similar piece of my currently inflamed-like-syphilis mind.
The man gives Adam the number. Adam breathes and apologizes once more and hangs up without hearing another word.
CHAPTER 6
Oh we have to stay present tense, because it gets better.
A little while later, same small room in Paharganj, same bed where now the blanket is tossed to the foot, the cell phone is right by the laptop and Adam lays on his stomach clicking away online, debit card out ready to call the number on the back once more.
Adam gets an e-mail. And then another.
From chase_customer_claims.
“Message from Chase Customer Claims Secure Document Exchange.”
He opens the first e-mail. It says a claim has been created. Gives a claim number. Then says here’s a password, which is itself “password.”The second e-mail claims to contain an ID number, which is not a number but Adam’s e-mail address.
All of this, in plain text, unsecured.
And there’s a link, not to chase.com, but to https://chase.secure-dx.com/consumerdcx-chase_atm, which Adam thinks is suspicious. He Googles.
Various fraud alerts come up. But so does the Internet portal for Wolters Kluwer Financial Services, which admittedly looks pretty professional. At this point, he’s not sure what to do.
He rolls the dice in anger. Types in the domain secure-dx.com. It reroutes to Wolters Kluwer FS (as opposed to the Wolters Kluwer without the FS, which also exists). He runs a WHOIS on the domain registry. Nothing pertaining to Wolters Kluwer FS comes up. Only someone in Great Britain. Hrmmm…
We should note dear reader, that the WHOIS search pulls information from a database entry that in theory contains details about the person behind the domain. For example, a WHOIS of adamjadhav.com points to Adam’s old address in St. Louis.
Finally, he calls The Bank again, more annoyed, if that’s possible. This time he gets another pleasant woman who is actually brief and helpful. He explains he didn’t even want to file a claim. She says that all calls generate a claim and the allegedly secure documents exchanged probably simply say everything has been resolved per the conversation.
Adam tells the woman he’s not sure whether he should even believe her. She could just be part of the elaborate phishing hoax. And then he admits that his anger has given way to paranoia.
She laughs and says she wouldn’t click the links in the e-mails either.
This doesn’t satisfy.
After a while, he calls Wolters Kluwer. Again, prepaid cell phone minutes burning away in his head. Trying to bypass further annoyance, he calls a corporate media contact, who he has also Googled and found a mildly active Twitter profile for.
Chuck, as he answers the phone, picks up right away.
Chuck seems mildly sympathetic and agrees it sounds suspicious, but also says that Wolters Kluwer does have a secure document exchange “product” that some banks use. Adam, still radioactive, tells Chuck he’s actually not sure that Chuck is Chuck — no last four of social here — and suggests that as someone responsible for public relations, Chuck perhaps should be concerned when a journalist finds Wolters Kluwer’s name associated with accusations of Internet fraud.
Adam also notes that e-mails claiming to be part of a secure system should probably not also contain user name and password in plain text, which is most definitely not secure. If that’s the service The Bank, via customers like Adam, is paying Wolters Kluwer for, then it’s quite possible that someone is getting a raw deal here.
Chuck says he’ll transfer Adam to the appropriate person in customer service “up front” who might be able to help.
This gets Adam to a woman whose tone makes her sound as interested in Adam’s concerns as he is in her ongoing home remodeling project or the health of her poodle. But he tries to sound pleasant and professional and completely unlike a seething, burning core of a neutron star.
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I’m a former U.S. newspaper reporter now traveling in India where I’ve come across a rather disturbing issue with my own bank account: I called my bank, Chase — JPMorgan Chase — to discuss some charges but nothing was resolved. Minutes later I get an e-mail purporting to be a secure document Web site but that through some basic Internet research it seems is either a fraud or connected to Wolters Kluwer. So I’m doing my due diligence calling you, at some expense since this is an international call from a cell phone.
Reeeeaaallllyyyy, the woman says, with a tone that suggests she is talking to drying paint or her barking dog.
She wants to know again why Adam is calling her. He tries to explain, much as above, and gets another Reeeeaaallllyyyy.
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OK. I’m a freelance journalist and I’m basically investigating what seems to be a bad case of Internet phishing and identity theft that is very clearly linked to your company’s wonderful fucking Web site. Now I am not a programming guru, but something out there in the big wonderful World Wide Web sent me e-mails in plain unsecured text purporting to be my user name and password and directing me to a Web site that could very well be after my soul or at least my money. It would seem in your best interest to connect me with someone who can explain this or at the very least look into why your company’s name is being associated with, true or not, malicious fucking Internet hackers plotting big trAHble for Moose and Squirrel.
Glossing over his anger or the Rocky and Bullwinkle reference, she transfers Adam to Thomas’ voicemail without explaining who Thomas is. Adam leaves a long message, asking Thomas to e-mail him or call him.
Adam contemplates his next move, slightly afraid that his debit card has already been deactivated.
He goes online and finds a $964 flight to Chicago next week and thinks about revenge. He very much wants to fly home now, withdraw his funds from The Bank entirely, and start a new financial life with someone else.
(To anyone from Chase or other reputable consumer affairs-interested parties who feel like discussing this matter with me further, I can be reached at ajadhav@gmail.com or on my Indian mobile phone: +91-080-55151423. Incoming calls are free)
Tags: banking, chase, delhi, enunciation, financial, fraud, india, jpmorgan chase bank, multimedia, nairobi, shenanigans, stupid
5 Responses to “Adam Jadhav and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Bank”
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Dan Waldron Says:
November 8th, 2009 at 10:19 amGreat post. I will read your posts frequently. Added you to the RSS reader.
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Erica (not the one from Chase) Says:
November 8th, 2009 at 11:33 amYikes.
Of course the @chasebank Twitter account has been suspended too because it appears spammy. (Sometimes companies will quickly fix problems brought up in such a public forum.) Good luck.
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Royal Says:
November 13th, 2009 at 11:29 amIf only you were paid by the word.
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kelly Says:
November 15th, 2009 at 12:54 pmwell friend, my ex works for chase. not in any particular division that can help you per se, but i can ask him to see if there is anyway we (he and i) can internally help you, if you are interested in such an attempt. highly entertaining read on the plus side of said ridiculous situation ;).
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ADAM JADHAV » Blog Archive » Uninsured and in pain. Could be worse. At least, I’m in India. Says:
November 22nd, 2009 at 10:51 am[...] Still don’t have a working debit card — again, thanks, JPMorgan Chase — so one more reason I’m hoping for a cheap [...]
