Remember bank tellers? I found one and defeated faceless banking in a single day
My triumphant story of opening a bank account in six hours – after being told it could take four weeks – was met with cheers from my husband, who was away overseas. I felt like I'd pulled off a heist. And I waxed lyrical about my saviour who worked at the bank branch.
I initially attempted to open this new account online. After all, this is the digital age in which we lounge in pyjamas and manage our finances from our own home. Sadly, I didn't make it past the start line and was informed I'd hear from someone in one to two weeks. That presented a problem as I needed the account urgently.
Which might sound entitled and demanding, but for more than 30 years, like many of you, we have made our bank lots of money. Our loyalty stems back to the times of chequebooks and frequent visits to branches where we'd wait in line for a person known as a teller. I don't recall ever having to wait two weeks to fill out an application.
With that wisdom, I changed into my outside clothes and headed off to a branch that bore little resemblance to the one I visited last century, where I hid my pregnancy so we could get a home loan. Was I in a coffee shop, serviced offices or the staff break room? There were benches with stools, cubicles, and staff were free-range milling around and chatting. In a corner, two tellers stood casually behind what looked more like lecterns than a screened counter.
I suspect the security cameras detected my mouth agape as a staff member approached and commented that I looked lost. I explained my dilemma, and she confidently whisked me into a cubicle and started my application, needing neither appointment nor the extravagant explanation I'd prepared on the drive in. Within 15 minutes she'd submitted the application and closed the lid on her laptop, her job done. I'd just saved myself a fortnight!
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She explained the approvals team would now get back to me – in one to two weeks. This rang like carillon bells in my head. I conjured a dystopian vision of a wood-panelled office lined with rows of desks piled high with applications, where suited men sat with a cigarette in one hand and a rubber stamp in the other. Minutes earlier I had elevated this woman to sainthood, and now I was in some Monty Pythonesque scene where my patience was being tested.
Keeping my eye on the prize, I thanked her for saving me one to two weeks in submitting the application, but explained this further one to two weeks did not solve my problem. She stared at me for so long I wondered if her hand was hovering on a button under the desk.
I switched tactics, trying a little the enemy of my enemy is my friend by complimenting her swift action against the slow grind of a faceless team hidden in the ether. I cited my knowledge that there were no regulatory requirements to open an account of this type and asked if she thought a call to the approvals team might be warranted. I stopped short of apologising for wanting to give the bank our money with such short notice.
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Sydney Morning Herald
15-06-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
Remember bank tellers? I found one and defeated faceless banking in a single day
My triumphant story of opening a bank account in six hours – after being told it could take four weeks – was met with cheers from my husband, who was away overseas. I felt like I'd pulled off a heist. And I waxed lyrical about my saviour who worked at the bank branch. I initially attempted to open this new account online. After all, this is the digital age in which we lounge in pyjamas and manage our finances from our own home. Sadly, I didn't make it past the start line and was informed I'd hear from someone in one to two weeks. That presented a problem as I needed the account urgently. Which might sound entitled and demanding, but for more than 30 years, like many of you, we have made our bank lots of money. Our loyalty stems back to the times of chequebooks and frequent visits to branches where we'd wait in line for a person known as a teller. I don't recall ever having to wait two weeks to fill out an application. With that wisdom, I changed into my outside clothes and headed off to a branch that bore little resemblance to the one I visited last century, where I hid my pregnancy so we could get a home loan. Was I in a coffee shop, serviced offices or the staff break room? There were benches with stools, cubicles, and staff were free-range milling around and chatting. In a corner, two tellers stood casually behind what looked more like lecterns than a screened counter. I suspect the security cameras detected my mouth agape as a staff member approached and commented that I looked lost. I explained my dilemma, and she confidently whisked me into a cubicle and started my application, needing neither appointment nor the extravagant explanation I'd prepared on the drive in. Within 15 minutes she'd submitted the application and closed the lid on her laptop, her job done. I'd just saved myself a fortnight! Loading She explained the approvals team would now get back to me – in one to two weeks. This rang like carillon bells in my head. I conjured a dystopian vision of a wood-panelled office lined with rows of desks piled high with applications, where suited men sat with a cigarette in one hand and a rubber stamp in the other. Minutes earlier I had elevated this woman to sainthood, and now I was in some Monty Pythonesque scene where my patience was being tested. Keeping my eye on the prize, I thanked her for saving me one to two weeks in submitting the application, but explained this further one to two weeks did not solve my problem. She stared at me for so long I wondered if her hand was hovering on a button under the desk. I switched tactics, trying a little the enemy of my enemy is my friend by complimenting her swift action against the slow grind of a faceless team hidden in the ether. I cited my knowledge that there were no regulatory requirements to open an account of this type and asked if she thought a call to the approvals team might be warranted. I stopped short of apologising for wanting to give the bank our money with such short notice.
The Age
15-06-2025
- The Age
Remember bank tellers? I found one and defeated faceless banking in a single day
My triumphant story of opening a bank account in six hours – after being told it could take four weeks – was met with cheers from my husband, who was away overseas. I felt like I'd pulled off a heist. And I waxed lyrical about my saviour who worked at the bank branch. I initially attempted to open this new account online. After all, this is the digital age in which we lounge in pyjamas and manage our finances from our own home. Sadly, I didn't make it past the start line and was informed I'd hear from someone in one to two weeks. That presented a problem as I needed the account urgently. Which might sound entitled and demanding, but for more than 30 years, like many of you, we have made our bank lots of money. Our loyalty stems back to the times of chequebooks and frequent visits to branches where we'd wait in line for a person known as a teller. I don't recall ever having to wait two weeks to fill out an application. With that wisdom, I changed into my outside clothes and headed off to a branch that bore little resemblance to the one I visited last century, where I hid my pregnancy so we could get a home loan. Was I in a coffee shop, serviced offices or the staff break room? There were benches with stools, cubicles, and staff were free-range milling around and chatting. In a corner, two tellers stood casually behind what looked more like lecterns than a screened counter. I suspect the security cameras detected my mouth agape as a staff member approached and commented that I looked lost. I explained my dilemma, and she confidently whisked me into a cubicle and started my application, needing neither appointment nor the extravagant explanation I'd prepared on the drive in. Within 15 minutes she'd submitted the application and closed the lid on her laptop, her job done. I'd just saved myself a fortnight! Loading She explained the approvals team would now get back to me – in one to two weeks. This rang like carillon bells in my head. I conjured a dystopian vision of a wood-panelled office lined with rows of desks piled high with applications, where suited men sat with a cigarette in one hand and a rubber stamp in the other. Minutes earlier I had elevated this woman to sainthood, and now I was in some Monty Pythonesque scene where my patience was being tested. Keeping my eye on the prize, I thanked her for saving me one to two weeks in submitting the application, but explained this further one to two weeks did not solve my problem. She stared at me for so long I wondered if her hand was hovering on a button under the desk. I switched tactics, trying a little the enemy of my enemy is my friend by complimenting her swift action against the slow grind of a faceless team hidden in the ether. I cited my knowledge that there were no regulatory requirements to open an account of this type and asked if she thought a call to the approvals team might be warranted. I stopped short of apologising for wanting to give the bank our money with such short notice.
Chicago Tribune
25-04-2025
- Chicago Tribune
Review: ‘Pirates! The Penzance Musical' is a delightful bit of Gilbert and Sullivan, back on Broadway
NEW YORK — W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan's 'The Pirates of Penzance' is a foundational musical. First seen in New York in 1879, this wacky yarn of swashbuckling pirates, Monty Pythonesque coppers and the comely daughters of a naval major general taught a young Broadway how to structure a musical comedy. Sitting at the Todd Haimes Theatre and listening to a character named Mabel warble a ditty called 'Ah, Leave Me Not to Pine Alone,' I was suddenly struck by how similar the song was to 'Alone At A Drive-In Movie' from 'Grease.' Sensibilities have changed, of course, since 1879. And since Gilbert and Sullivan helpfully reside in the public domain, they can be adapted with impunity. In this latest case, now a relatively rare outing for the pair on Broadway with the Roundabout Theatre Company, they've been given an overhaul by adapter Rupert Holmes and a new sexed-up title, being as producers these days panic whenever a title lacks a 'banger,' as we say in journalism. Ergo, the doings of the Cornish buccaneers now goes by 'Pirates! The Penzance Musical,' as if Gilbert and Sullivan had given a damn about that particular town, beyond its alliterative properties. At least they'd have appreciated the commercial practicalities. As they would Holmes' decision to juice up the 'Pirates' score with songs actually written for 'Iolanthe,' 'The Mikado,' and 'H.M.S. Pinafore.' Why not? That's been done with Cole Porter and George Gershwin and we won't be seeing 'The Mikado' anytime soon. Naturally, 'Pirates' has a star in David Hyde Pierce. The good news is that said celebrity is fully equal to the formidable performative demands of one of the greatest patter songs of all time, 'I Am the Very Model of the Modern Major-General,' which he performed flawlessly, and ever more rapidly, on the night I was there. Hyde Piece is perfect for Gilbert and Sullivan: he's droll, a tad dotty, curiously understated and generous with fellow actors, and there is a perpetual twinkle in his been-there-done-that eyes. Add a handle-bar mustache, and what more do you need? Ramin Karimloo, the dubious pirate monarch, certainly adds to the party. Half Kevin Kline and half Hugh Jackman, the bare-chested Karimloo swaggers around as the fun demands alongside Frederic (Nicholas Barasch), the duty-bound young fellow apprenticed to the pirates and whose complications and affection for Mabel (Samantha Williams) inform most of the plot. Barasch looks and acts like the long-lost child of Conan O'Brien; he's funny too, in the straight-man kind of way that Gilbert and Sullivan demands. Frederic has to fight off the machinations of his guardian Ruth, who is spiced up a tad by Jinkx Monsoon, a shrewd bit of casting that I suspect was intended to make that whole relationship more fun and, well, a little less creepy. The director, Scott Ellis, is clever with those kinds of choices (Preston Truman Boyd is well cast as the police sergeant) and Ellis is joined here by choreographer Warren Carlyle, who keeps all of these wacky characters on their toes, including the show's famous Chaplinesque constables, here rendered as the New Orleans Volunteer Police, since the whole show now takes place in New Orleans in 1880 with a Creole kinda vibe and new syncopations added to the score. My one caveat on what is a highly entertaining and most genial evening of daffy, escapist Broadway, is that some of it feels a bit much, especially movement and new orchestrations-wise. Gilbert's internal rhymes were never equalled until Stephen Sondheim came along with comparable talent and there are times when the puns and quips get a tad overwhelmed by the Monty Python walks, the jazzy stylings and what not. Occasionally, the material needed to be better trusted. But those are minor caveats. Holmes, best known for writing 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood,' gives the show a fresh and loving applied coat of paint, even writing Gilbert and Sullivan themselves into the experience, taking a leaf from Jamie Lloyd's little homage to Andrew Lloyd Webber in the current 'Sunset Blvd.' But Ellis also has delivered an old-school analog pleasure in a Broadway season much seduced by digital temptation. In their graves, Gilbert and Sullivan must be turning topsy-turvy with delight.
