A Bank Employee Mocked Me at the ATM—Get Lost Poor Student! But One Look at My Account Left Him Pale

Closing a poor student account, for example, if you're upset, leave this place. When you are a valued customer, return. George, the bank employee, grinned smugly as he said this while wearing his uniform.

I thought, what a manner he could have fun! I felt that canceling my account was very harsh. As I considered my options, I devised a cunning scheme.

"All right, I'll go quietly, but could you maybe check one thing for me before I leave? " "What? " "Okay, hold on.

" After showing George the "transaction cannot be processed" screen from the ATM, I gave him my bank book and showed him the balance. George counted the zeros over and over, his face going white. I started preparing my next move.

"In the interim, you can call me Alex Weston. " I was going to move out on my own this summer after being accepted to my first choice university. It's both thrilling and nerve-wracking to leave the house I've called home for more than a decade, but it's a necessary step on the path to freedom.

Back in high school, I had made the decision that when I started college, I would leave my uncle and aunt's home. More than 10 years ago, my parents died in a vehicle accident. My uncle and aunt took me in because my grandparents were too elderly to care for me.

They treated me like their son because they didn't have any children of their own. I was able to mature and become an adult because of them. They made time out of their hectic schedules to assist me whenever I was having trouble with my coursework.

They did everything in their power to defend me when I was made fun of at school for not having parents. I am incredibly appreciative of them for taking care of me for a longer period than my parents ever did. A little early, but I want to thank Beth and Robert for everything.

I sincerely appreciate the way you brought me up. On the day I got my letter of acceptance, I thanked them. "Thank you, Alex.

Being a parent for 10 years was a blessing. You've developed into a wonderful young man, and I can now inform your parents with pride. But in the summer, you'll have a lot to get ready for, you know.

You can always return. Remember to give us a call occasionally; I'll send you anything you require. " I felt a little ashamed when Beth wiped her tears with a handkerchief and grieved, even though it wasn't a final goodbye.

But looking back, I realized I underestimated the reality of independence. I was shamefully unprepared for the responsibilities of daily life, as Robert and Beth had always handled them for me. I had no idea that preparing to live on my own would involve so many complicated tasks.

From the moment I got my acceptance letter, I was buried under a mountain of things to do: insurance, registration, opening a new bank account, and so on. "Let's arrange for your tuition and fees to be deducted from your account, Alex. You should open a university account to manage your expenses and tuition separately.

" Once I found an apartment, I had to set up utilities like water, electricity, and gas. I also needed to buy furniture and appliances for my new place. I cursed my naivety for thinking I could relax now that the exams were over.

Having rarely visited a bank before, everything felt completely new. I didn't even realize I needed to open an account, which became a funny anecdote. "Can I just use my student ID instead?

" I was used to managing small amounts of pocket money or digital payments on my phone, so the thought of handling large amounts like tuition was terrifying. I felt so nervous that my hands trembled, knowing I couldn't afford to make any mistakes. But since I was about to live on my own, I had to learn to handle transfers and payments myself.

Until I got used to it, I planned to visit the ATM during quieter times when attendants were available to help. It seemed I wasn't the only one; this time of year, many students starting their solo lives were using banks for the first time. Most of the attendants were kind and patient, which was a lifesaver, but no matter how kind the majority might be, there are always exceptions, and I happened to meet one of those exceptions.

"Wow," I sighed at the nearest ATM corner. It was the 15th of an even-numbered month, and the ATM corner at Horizon Bank was packed. Being new to all this, I had forgotten it was pension day, which meant long lines at the ATM.

To make matters worse, it was also the fifth and tenth, adding to the congestion. Some people were rushing in during a lunch break, creating a tense atmosphere. Adding to the tension was the ATM attendant, George.

"Coming here on such a busy day? Of course, it's crowded! If you don't know how to use a machine, come back when it's less busy.

" George's name tag was visible as he yelled at an elderly customer who seemed unsure of what to do. Without sparing a glance at the disheartened old man, George continued managing the line with little care or courtesy. His unhelpful attitude made me consider leaving, but I couldn't.

I had forgotten an important payment, and today was the deadline. Overwhelmed by the flood of tasks, I had completely lost track of time. Since I would be out all evening, I had no choice but to make the payment now.

Feeling cornered, I reluctantly joined the back of the line. After waiting nervously for a while, my turn finally came. I swallowed hard, trying to calm myself.

George gave me a glance that seemed to say, "Can't this wait? " making me even more uneasy. Telling myself I've done this before, I inserted my bankbook and card into the machine.

I carefully checked each step, worried about accidentally sending money to the wrong account. This slow, cautious process must have annoyed the people behind me. Meanwhile, George had been pacing behind me, making his presence impossible to ignore.

Not done yet, the attendant leaned in to peer at my screen, making it hard to concentrate. "Could you not look at my pen, please? If you need assistance, feel free to ask; it's quite busy today.

" I turned around and found George standing so close that I could feel his breath. His words were polite, but they essentially meant, "Hurry up. " Feeling flustered, I accidentally pressed the wrong button and had to start over.

George's movements distracted me, and I made several more mistakes. "Are you a student? There are plenty of customers waiting behind you.

If it's not urgent, why don't you come back later? " The sudden comment startled me as I focused on the transaction. Looking back, George's face clearly showed annoyance.

The politeness he had earlier was completely gone; his attitude now made no attempt to hide his irritation, leaving me stunned. "It's really frustrating, you know? People who don't know how to use the machine show up at the busiest times and hog the ATM.

I bet your mom handled everything for you until now. " While it was true that I hadn't done much on my own before—I had just been a high school student buried in studies every day—at my age, it wasn't unusual to be unfamiliar with ATMs. Ignoring George's muttering, I finally managed to finish my transfer.

I felt like I deserved a pat on the back. " Hurry up and stop dawdling; let the next person go! " As I tried to put away my receipt and bankbook, George kept pestering me.

The ATM's anti-forget alarm peeped repeatedly, sending me into a near panic. I wanted to yell, "I'm putting things away as fast as I can! " but my bag zipper got stuck, and my wallet seemed to disappear into thin air.

"Don't rush me! Wait, what are you doing? My card is still—" Before I could finish, George shoved me aside.

I hadn't retrieved my card yet. As I reached out in desperation, I let out a cry of despair. After the time limit expired, the ATM swallowed my card.

Staring at the machine, I froze in disbelief. George glared at me with narrowed eyes. "This is why I can't stand slowpokes.

You don't even have much money in your account, yet you act like an important customer. " Once a card is swallowed, it's a hassle to get it back. Apparently, retrieving a swallowed card required identity verification and paperwork.

Getting scolded out of nowhere left me panicked and embarrassed, but then it hit me: this wasn't my fault, was it? If anything, George's rushing and shoving caused a mistake and made me leave my card behind. The realization cooled my head, and George's angry rant started to look ridiculous.

He was probably trying to pin the blame on me to avoid acknowledging his own mistake. "Go to the counter and handle the paperwork; while you're at it, why not close your account too? " "What's that supposed to mean?

" I couldn't help but ask. "Closing the account of a poor student like you? Get out of here!

If you're upset, come back when you're a high-value customer! " Sure, I was an inexperienced student, but even I knew this wasn't how a customer should be treated. It was obvious that George chose who to respect and who to belittle based on his own biases.

Anger welled up in me. "Understood, I'll leave quietly, but before I go, could you check something for me? " "What up?

" "Fine, wait, what? " I showed George the merciless message on the ATM screen: "Transaction cannot be processed. " Then I placed my bankbook on the screen, seeing the balance.

George froze, mouth agape. Let's just say the number of zeros in my balance was six. "This situation where I can't access my funds is your fault.

Since the amount is significant, I'll consult my guardians and return later. " I made sure George saw both the ATM screen and the bankbook, ensuring he understood that his actions had caused a millionaire customer's funds to become inaccessible. A high-value customer.

"Why? How? You're just a student.

Why does your account have such a large balance? " "Sadly, it's my inheritance from my parents and grandparents. Since my parents died in an unexpected car accident, I received their life insurance and compensation.

Later, when my grandparents passed away peacefully, I inherited their assets through legal succession. My grandparents had been relatively wealthy, which left me with a balance not typical for a student. My uncle, who is an attorney, not only took me in and raised me but also managed my assets as my legal guardian.

Now that I've turned 18 and legally become an adult, we decided that I would start managing those assets myself as I head to college. All the overwhelming paperwork stems from that decision. " Having completed the transfer, I figured there was no risk of losing the card if the bank held on to it.

Leaving George, who was still flustered, behind, I returned home. Since my uncle happened to be home, I told him everything that had happened. Following my uncle's advice, I sent a formal complaint about my experience to Horizon Bank.

That very same day, the branch manager called to apologize. "Please let me visit with George and offer our apologies in person. " They made the offer, but I declined.

He clearly underestimated me because I'm a student and treated me unfairly. I didn't want someone like that knowing where I live, and honestly, I didn't even want to see him. "Even so, we need to return your card.

" "be a burden to ask you to come in, so please allow us to deliver it to you. I'll come and pick it up myself. " The branch manager was likely under pressure from higher-ups; they were quite insistent as I went back and forth on the phone.

My Uncle Robert, who had been listening, gestured for me to hand it over. "This is Alex Weston's legal counsel, Robert Weston. " "I—" "Yes, that's correct," the branch manager's shocked voice was audible even from where I stood.

But my uncle, a seasoned professional, quickly resolved the situation. Soon enough, it was agreed that Robert and I would visit the bank to retrieve the card. When we arrived at the bank, we were immediately escorted to the reception room and treated with the utmost respect.

While my uncle seemed used to this, I, who had been just a high school student until recently, was overwhelmed by the intimidating atmosphere. My heart wouldn't stop pounding. "My sincerest apologies for my failure to properly train our staff," the branch manager said, bowing deeply.

Meanwhile, George stood there with a sullen expression, only giving a slight nod. That wasn't an apology; it was a mere gesture of acknowledgment. Even I, inexperienced as I was, could tell the difference.

Was this his usual attitude toward customers, or was he just having a bad day? After looking into it, we found that George had repeatedly exhibited this behavior toward customers. "We were aware of occasional complaints," the branch manager admitted.

According to him, working as an ATM or lobby attendant involved learning a lot of detailed procedures. Since the job also required dealing with increasingly demanding customers, turnover was high. With staff shortages already a problem, losing a permanent employee would be a big issue, so they often hired part-time workers through temp agencies.

George, despite being a temp worker, had been at the bank for over five years. His knowledge of policy changes and operational details made him reliable in many ways. However, his moodiness and tendency to lose motivation after criticism were major drawbacks, the branch manager admitted.

"He often struggled to manage George. " "Occasional complaints, mocking someone struggling with a task and assuming a student must be poor—doesn't that go beyond occasional? " I asked.

"You're absolutely right; I have no excuse," the branch manager said, wiping the sweat from his brow and visibly shrinking. Yet George hadn't even spoken up; he was just staring off into space while his boss kept apologizing on his behalf. He clearly had no intention of taking responsibility.

"What did you say? You're just a student? Stop it, George!

You're cleaning up your own mess. Apologize properly! " Though I had spoken more forcefully than I intended, it was still the branch manager who kept apologizing profusely.

Meanwhile, George pressed his lips into a tight line, looking like he might snap back at any moment. "Fine, the account balance shows he's not poor; that part was my mistake," he finally said, "but he didn't earn that money himself, so what's with the attitude? Giving a kid this much money—what kind of parenting is that?

No wonder things like this happen. " When he finally opened his mouth, those were the words he chose. I felt a rush of blood to my head.

"A person's private assets have nothing to do with your disrespect," my uncle said calmly, continuing to make unjust insults in front of me. "An attorney is not a wise choice. " With that remark, the air in the room froze.

Even George, who had been acting so brashly, went quiet in the face of my uncle's authoritative presence. "Also, weren't you peeking at the ATM screen from behind? " my uncle continued.

"Using your position like that, whether or not you actually stole the PIN, it would be hard to deny if someone accused you of doing so. " At those words, both the branch manager and George turned pale. "And let's not forget, you forcibly shoved this boy away from the ATM before he had even retrieved his card.

On top of that, you loudly declared he was a high-value customer for anyone nearby to hear. " My uncle continued his verbal assault. Though usually calm and gentlemanly, once angered, he would unleash the full weight of his legal knowledge to corner his opponent.

I knew just how intimidating that could be from both a privacy and security perspective. "This is highly regrettable if personal information was leaked. Well, there's no choice but to take action," he said.

"After all, some might share George's belief that it's inappropriate for a student to hold significant wealth. " Why was I starting to sweat, even though I wasn't the one being scolded? The tension was palpable for George and the branch manager, who were directly responsible.

This must have felt like a nightmare. "Between the insults to this boy, the matter of peeking at his PIN, and everything else, we have many grievances," my uncle said, "but we're not looking to escalate this unnecessarily. How about we settle this with a sincere apology from George and by changing the PIN?

Does that sound fair? " His tone was gentle, even cheerful, but his words were ruthless. He was essentially saying that if they didn't apologize properly, he would escalate the issue and report it to the relevant authorities.

As a temp worker who had both peeked at a customer's PIN and inadvertently disclosed the wealth of a client, George was in a precarious position, and the branch manager, being responsible for managing him, was equally at risk. At minimum, the two of them would face severe disciplinary action; in the worst case, they might lose their jobs if it escalated to a lawsuit. The fallout would be devastating.

"I deeply apologize for my actions as a bank employee. Please forgive me," George muttered. Seconds later, both he and the branch manager offered a sincere apology for the inconvenience.

Later, the. . .

The branch manager sent a formal proposal for corrective measures to my uncle's law office. Among the listed measures was George's reassignment, which made me chuckle despite myself. Apparently, the incident was widely shared among the bank staff as a cautionary tale, leaving George in an awkward position.

The branch manager, who had long struggled to deal with George, decided not to renew his contract after considering this incident and his past behavior. To prevent retaliation against me, George would be employed until the end of his term, but the temp agency had already been informed. In effect, he was being fired.

At over 50 years old, George, who had caused trouble at his placement, would likely struggle to find another assignment. Even if he did, it would probably come with significantly worse terms. As a temp bank employee, he must have enjoyed decent pay, which made this all the more unfortunate.

My uncle speculated that George had begun to confuse the prestige of the bank with his own standing, leading to this downfall. Apparently, this happens more often than one might think. As for me, I wasn't spared from my uncle's scolding.

"Flashing your bank book like that, even to a bank employee, was careless," he told me, and I couldn't argue; it was a hard lesson learned. Since then, I've changed my pen, and I'm preparing to move into my new apartment, so I'm reasonably secure for now. My uncle also advised me to open several accounts to diversify risk and comply with deposit insurance limits.

By the way, I noticed you've been avoiding it, but online banking is pretty convenient. You wouldn't even need to visit the bank in cases like this, and you wouldn't have to deal with rude staff. No way, more applications!

I couldn't help but groan; after this flood of paperwork, I couldn't bear the thought of more forms. According to my aunt, things have gotten much easier in recent years, with more processes digitized and simple applications available online. I couldn't believe it.

See, putting off tasks because they're a hassle is what led to this mess. Once you set it up, it'll save you a lot of time and effort for managing expenses. I recommend debit cards over credit cards, by the way.

Listening to my uncle's cheerful explanations, I collapsed face-first onto the table; it seemed my endless journey through bureaucratic hell was far from over.