I was standing at the credit union counter the other day when a couple of pieces of paper were pushed toward me and I was asked to sign them. The two forms were identical – just different colours – and they have a built-in carbon paper feature so they pass them to you one atop the other. That means when you sign once, technically you’ve agreed twice.
Back in the day – as Special K (who by the way was a bank teller) used to tell me – back in the day you had to give them your initials on a deposit slip, but only if you were taking cash out.
Back in the day – when a lot more banking was done with paper cheques and you’d go into the bank with a few cheques to deposit you had to write them all down in the right column on the slip and then add them up to arrive at your sub-total.
If you were going to hold a bit of cash back then you’d have to write down how much cash you wanted under the subtotal – do some subtraction – and put the real total amount of your deposit on the bottom of the slip.
There was also a place for you to put your initials on the slip next to the amount you wanted in cash. I guess that was supposed to be some sort of receipt that you had gotten your money.
Somewhere during the last ten years those forms must have changed. New computers – new laws to combat money laundering – for whatever reason when I go to the credit union now it seems I no longer have to fill out a deposit slip.
I can just walk up to the counter with my cheque and tell them which account I’d like it to go into. The nice, friendly teller types all of the information into their computer and then comes the deposit slip signing ritual that I mentioned at the start of this piece.
What I don’t quite understand though is why they ask for me to sign even if I’ve deposited 100 per cent of the money I handed them. This seems to be out of whack somehow – it seems they should be signing the receipt that they have your money instead of you signing that you gave it to them.
The way they have it working the burden of proof and balance of probabilities on the scales of justice in a courtroom might look at all this paperwork as proof that I agreed to give them the money, but I have nothing in hand saying they are going to give it back.
So last week when they slipped the paperwork across the counter for my signature I decided to run a little experiment. I grabbed the pen and started off my autograph with the ‘P’ shaped as I normally do it, but then I just went gonzo and scrawled a bunch of gibberish across the line.
You know what? They didn’t even blink – there was no careful comparison of my signature to the card they have on file. They just handed me my copy and filed their piece of paper in a nice, neat little pile.
I don’t have the same feeling of respect and seriousness for the whole signature thing that goes on at the bank anymore. But they have my money, so I’ll keep on doing business with them.