“GENTLEMEN, we are under attack. You know that the harder they come, the harder we hit.”
The banks had called a meeting of senior staff from all of the banks. The Wild Coot was invited since he was at the vanguard of the attack. They intended to slaughter him. He was given a back seat at the meeting.
“All hell has broken loose on the call-in programme with that man Mr David Ellis. People are saying that our charges are excessive. So let us examine why things have changed. In a normally functioning environment we would be supporting businesses by lending the deposits entrusted to us. However, today our Central Bank has been in competition with us. Firstly it encouraged us with freedom to drop our savings rates to .25 per cent but themselves offered 7.5 per cent for bonds. It surprised us as we realised that the money was destined for the Government.”
A fellow who had his hand raised for a long time got up and said: “The people do not have anywhere else to put money, so they need us. Many of the salaries are paid into the bank, so they have to come into the bank. Let us impose an entrance fee like they do in nightclubs all over the world. Then according to age and gender, we charge appropriately for entrance. Those who decide to use the ATM instead will find that there is a fee there according to service selected.”
“Marvellous idea,” said a fellow with a foreign accent. At this point each officer got out his calculator figuring out how much revenue the suggestion would bring. They reasoned, if 20 people came into the bank every hour (20×37 hours per week x 52 weeks at $5 average x five branches) – cool almost effortless $850 000 per bank. Usage of the ATM at $2 per tick, another $300 000 – over $1 million suggestion.
He was congratulated for his perspicacity. Up stood an elderly banker. “I see no reason why we should limit our charge to $5 per month for the maintenance of a current, savings or deposit account. Why not charge $5 per day.” Again, fellows brought out their calculators but there were not enough zeros on the calculators to properly compute the expected income. It ran into the millions.
“Wild Coot, what do you think of our deliberations?”
“Good so far. However, there was once a fellow named Jean de LA Fontaine, 1641-1695, a French fabulist. He wrote a fable called “La poule aux oeufs d’or” (the goose that laid the golden egg), the first words of which were, “L’averice perde tout en voulant tout gagner” (Greed loses everything while wishing to gain everything). You wicked sons of so and so will kill the goose that laid the golden egg. Here you have a people who sedulously and honestly place their trust in you and this is how you are planning to reward them? The egg that they “pondait tous les jours” (savings) you use to your benefit, often making 28 per cent return, and now you turn around and plan to slap them in the guts.
“The fable goes on to call you ‘gens chiche’ – Rapacious people.”
“Hold on Wild Coot,” said an elderly banker who I did not notice was in the meeting. “Is not this the pot calling the kettle black? You went hither, thither and yon spreading our insidious message and now come to upbraid us because we are scratching around for a little profit in this desert atmosphere. Why do you not look at the source of our discontent? The head honcho. We did not interfere with him first. He interfered with us. He came into our backyard and offered 7.5 per cent for our savings and upset the whole apple cart. You should place the ‘gens chiche’ where it belongs.”
But the Wild Coot was not backing down. “That may be true, but like the Apostle Paul, when I was a child I thought like a child, but now I am a man I’ve put aside all childishness. You must realise that you operate in an environment in which pleasing yourselves and your own bottom line only cannot be in the interest of the country, especially when the working capital that you are using (savings) comes from the people.”
A short little fellow in a pin-stripe suit then said: “Looka Wild Coot, get out and like the Moores said, ‘doan come ’bout back hey’.”
I left with my tail between my legs mumbling: “You all will see when the cost of living hits the people.”
• Harry Russell is a banker. Email: [email protected]
