Yup, even worse than the Post Office (at least it’s free to ring or write them to complain). Yes, folks, it’s Barclays again.
In our last exciting installment, we left our hero stranded in New Zealand with virtually fuck all cash. He had been requested to send a letter to get his address changed and to have money transferred to another account, which he duly did.
Lo and fucking behold… they bolloxed it up again.
Over two weeks on and no money in my Lloyds account, where it should have been transferred to. Thankfully, I’ve just installed Skype, so calling them this evening didn’t cost so much. This is a good thing.
I rang the credit card loss line as it’s the only number with a proper dialling code (I know, this isn’t a problem with Skype – force of habit). I explained to the girl I didn’t have a card or anything and I needed to speak to someone about my current account. She put me through to telephone banking that asks me to key in my card number or telephone banking passcode.
I hung up and retried.
The second muppet put me through to customer services after 7 minutes of hold music. There I found out that my address details had been changed (yay). But that the money hadn’t been moved. So they definitely got the request as it was on the same side of the same sheet of paper, and then they utterly failed to action it.
This has left me up Shit Creek without the money for a paddle. Or more precisely, I’ve got a camper van to hire in 2 days and not enough money in my bank to pay for it.
Useless Bird put me through to the Customer Relations department (15 minutes on the phone and counting), where another girl proved to be as useless as everyone else. After explaining everything to the vacious tart, it took two requests for an address to write a complaint to for her to give me one. She also asked what number she could call me back on. Hello?
I told her to call my mother who has Power of Attorney. But she’s not linked to the account. Of course not. She’s my mother, not my spouse, and I don’t live in Hicksville, South Carolina (or Invercargill, south NZ to be topical) so she wouldn’t be. Fuck’s sake.
I got the number of her department off her and was told to call back. OK, so she apologised umpteen times for my situatoin and how much it was costing me to call but – really – you could tell she didn’t give a fuck.
Of course, there’ll be a letter heading their way shortly (I’ll copy it up here) but it won’t do any good as it’s obvious I’m moving my money away to close my account down.
Barclays. Cunts. Stupid, useless, thumb-up-arse cunts. All of them. Shite. Avoid, avoid, avoid. I’d be grateful if as many people as possible could link to this article using the word “Barclays” so it rockets up Google.
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