Dickson Igwe. Photo: VINO

But he was in his element that bright day. Everything was perfect. He was glad to be alive. He walked with a triumphant bounce. He was probably smiling at all and sundry. There was an expression on his face that read, “I am one happy and joyful Old Chap, am I not?” Life was good.

But things may have been going too well. The wise will tell you that things have a way of going awry, just when heaven is reached: there is always that pin to burst the biggest balloon. That is how the world is made. So, he should have known better. His happiness and joy was to be short lived.         

He walked through the glass doors of this major financial institution in the heart of Road Town. After standing in line for- and this is a conservative estimate- nearly two hours, he escaped capture, and tumbled out the doors of the bank, bruised and badly battered. He had been bloodied by what he experienced. He limped back to his workplace.

Calling his hideous experience at that bank a nightmare is an understatement. It was like standing in line for execution by firing squad. It was like waiting while hungry, in a line at a soup kitchen, for a bowl of tasteless broth. It was like doing hard labour in the proverbial GULAG.

In any event, he went back to that Terrible Institution some weeks later. Happily, things appeared to have improved. His experiences afterwards, with this bank, for quite a while, could be considered to have been acceptable, tolerable.

About three or four years later, sometime in June 2016 to be precise, it was another sunny day on this Virgin Paradise Island. He ventured once more through the doors of this “prestigious” bank.

He was in for it. Had he known what was to happen he would have best done something else: gone in a different direction. Maybe he chose the wrong day to visit the bank. He should have fled for dear life. It was a day when he relived his worst nightmare. And this time, his experience at the “Great Bank” was even worse than the horrific visit and experience he had about three years ago. In fact he believes he was SET UP. That is how bad his most recent experience was.

OK. The bank was operating as usual. ALL the tellers were at station. The queue was short. But that was just the beginning of the ordeal.

Only one teller appeared to be serving customers. The man sat on a chair that was set so low behind the counter that customers had to bend over to speak to him. He had a perennial grin on his face. Eventually the grin would become a grimace. The rest of the tellers appeared to be doing administrative work: in fact they were pretending to be doing work.

A motley mix of customers was trapped in the queue. They were hostages. The atmosphere spoke of stagnation. The mood in the bank was positively toxic. One even wonders whether the management is aware of this ongoing poor customer service culture, despite a battery of cameras lurking in every nook and cranny of the bank.

The one glimmer of hope was the TV monitor that worked. It offered the long suffering customers the global news. The air conditioning also functioned effectively.

OK. Had the tellers been helpful, nice, and pleasant, the ordeal would probably have been bearable. One could probably have swallowed the bitter medicine. They were not. They were glad to be given the opportunity to frustrate Joe Public. They appeared to be enjoying the sight of old and young folk alike trapped in terrible captivity.

In fact, as customers got more and more frustrated, the line got longer. The tellers got more and more nonchalant. They were actually enjoying the torture they were dishing out: the willful wasting of the precious time of customers. This was clearly the mode of operation at this bank. It was an entrenched part of its customer service culture.

The paradox was that certain individuals with “greater social pedigree” were greeted with SHOCK and AWE by these selfsame tellers, better termed prison guards. In fact, the suffering 99% in the line were made to share in this undue deference and fawning of the BIG SHOTS. These were the CHOSEN FEW, not the elderly who rightly receive special privileges, who just walked up to the counter and met with a teller who dropped everything and did the bidding of the “Very Important Person.”

One look at the suffering line of customers by the tellers said it all. “LOOK MISTA, just wait there and don’t cringe: this is MRS BIG. She will be served first of course. She does not have to join the line. She is a member of the 1% CLUB.” Yes, those tellers made Jack the Customer, feel like Jack the Proverbial ASS.

Now, customer service in a services oriented economy is of paramount importance. GDP growth is hugely impacted by the way the suppliers of goods and services treat customers in a services economy. Any economist worth his six figure income will tell you that customer service is a crucial factor in economic growth. Businesses that listen to their customers and react accordingly do better than businesses that treat customers poorly, like this bank.

Effective customer service is the key to commercial success, and this is accepted by the global business community. Every bad customer experience negatively impacts the business’s bottom line in some way.

And sadly, customer service in this country continues to lag behind what should be the accepted norm. Or maybe citizens and residents of these islands do not understand how important it is to treat Jack and Jill Customer with consideration and respect. And Virgin Islands Residents, long accustomed to poor treatment, have become immune to this toxic culture by a number of businesses. That banks needs to institute a customer service training programme immediately, and it should continue “ad infinitum.”

Yes, this Old Boy’s experience at that bank left a bitter taste. And had he more choice he would have closed his account on the spot. But that would have worsened his experience that day, and negatively impacted his BLOOD PRESSURE. He had a lot to do that day. Life is too short, and he has, as is the norm in the country, accounts at other banks.

So he drifted to another financial institution and experienced what should be the norm. At the other bank all of the tellers were in station and active. They were busy serving customers, as per their job descriptions. They could have smiled a lot more. But what the heck! One should not ask for the impossible. The line at the second bank moved swiftly. It was a pleasure to behold. The only hiccup was that he had forgotten his ATM card which was required to withdraw specific sums, even from the tellers.

So he had to abort his mission. Next, he ambled to a well known cellular phone company known for its red colours that sits smack in the center of town, close to a shoe shop. He remained in emotional and psychological pain. The experience he had at that Toxic Bank blackened his mind and turned his soft heart into stone. The sky appeared darker, the day was going terribly.

His experience at the cell phone company restored his faith in humankind. It was more than excellent. He wondered what it would be like had the two businesses exchanged staff. Or maybe, being ignorant and morose is part of the global banking culture. His experience at the cellular company left a smile on his face. The sun shone once more.

The delightful young man at the counter gave him renewed hope in customer services in the [British] Virgin Islands. He was simply brilliant. He was courteous, warm, and extremely helpful. This Customer had a great day after all.

The “Great Bank” on the other hand could care less about good customer service: Why? Because it feels, like many other businesses in the country, that it has a captive Virgin Islands audience that can withstand severe pain and suffering.

What a sad state of affairs!

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