The bank clerk and I waited on hold together for almost half an hour before I realised something.
I was, of course, well accustomed to hanging on the phone to my bank at home for untold minutes, maybe hours, while the on-hold music played in a nauseating loop and I pottered around getting other things done.
But this was something new. There I was in my cheerfully lit local branch, sitting with the bank assistant, as we both silently listened to that looping music and waited for someone to pick up the phone.
Thinking back, I can't believe it took me so long to figure it out.
My question was faltering: "Are we calling … the same helpline number that I would call if … if I was at home?"
The sweet-faced clerk nodded.
"They don't give you a direct number you can call, something to get you straight into the banking services division? Even though you work for the same bank?"
I shouldn't have been surprised. I'd spent the week on air talking to John and Julie, the victims of the worst identity theft and financial fraud I'd ever been told about. Their loss of almost $400,000 – their retirement savings – the theft of their identity, the fraudulent accounts opened and then siphoned off in their names, is a contemporary horror story about the reality of privacy that now hangs by slim, digital thread.
How the couple lost almost $400,000
They had told me of sitting on the phone for hours to their banks' emergency fraud lines as they watched the money draining out of their accounts in real time, with nobody picking up at the other end. Their telco didn't operate a call centre on weekends, so their stolen mobile number was swiftly ported elsewhere, and they were powerless to stop it.
The thieves, now in control of their phone, were receiving the two-factor authentication codes they had prudently enabled and were using them to transfer more and more money out.
John and Julie were trying to do everything right. They were knocking as loudly as they could on the security door to their bank, but nobody was answering, while the thieves took all their cash out the back.
When I walked out of the local bank that afternoon, sometime after the clerk and I had finally abandoned the wait and figured out the problem ourselves, I should have realised: compared to John and Julie's ordeal, I'd just been treated to a comfortable afternoon of listening to relaxing music.
Profits hit a record
This week, as reporter Madi Chwasta and I broke this story, we also learned that one of Australia's oldest and biggest banks had recorded a record profit of $10.16 billion: the Commonwealth Bank had finally fully bounced out of COVID and a long season of record-low interest rates and returned a profit that would be significant in any banking sector in any part of the world. Indeed, Australian banking profits are by international comparison some of the largest in the world: that's the price you pay, we are told, for the stability of our system.
Fair enough. But I think Julie and John, and the countless other customers who called into my show, would tell you that they'd willingly sacrifice some of that profit – even while they are shareholders – if the banks could just employ enough emergency contact staff to safeguard the money that's delivered them all that profit. Don't even start them about introducing the kind of system redundancies that could prevent the breaches in the first place.
But instead, failure seems built into a system that desires boundless amounts of money on deposit but doesn't spend enough to hire sufficient people to help protect it. You shouldn't have to beg for someone to call you back when the most egregious of financial crimes – fraud – is underway.
Our banks remind us with no irony of the serious need to report fraud, to watch out for scams, to pass on information about scams and to not click on that link. They seem to have little passion for marshalling the human resources that could actually help achieve that end.
As one of my listeners suggested, banks like CBA could spend a million a week on more staff to handle the urgent calls of scammed and distressed customers, and still report to market with a $10 billion profit. Their social contract margin would surely be a little fatter, too.
This weekend for you we have Bollywood, birth and the bright moments of joy in everyday lives.
As the winter sun starts to set tonight, please lift your phone torch lights high and tune in to ABC radio for our full coverage of the brilliant Matildas and their battle with France. The ABC Listen app will have all the action from 4.30pm – or follow the action on the live blog on the ABC News' homepage.
And Charlie Pickering – who could right now be yet another grey-faced bloke, high up in a corner office, raking in a pile while his heart yearns for that road not taken – tells you the intriguing story of his life in the new episode of You Don't Know Me. He is as funny, warm and clever as you might imagine.
Have a safe and happy weekend, and how much joy is there in hearing someone you love finding themselves clear and unburdened and ringing with happiness? Dan Sultan's new album is out in a few days and then an east coast tour later in the year. I'm so glad to hear his heart light with love. Go well.
Virginia Trioli is presenter on Mornings on ABC Radio Melbourne.
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