My wife Sarah was having a hard time adjusting to the postpartum phase after having our baby daughter. She was worn out and had put on weight. After noticing her old ID photo, an unpleasant consultant at the bank last week made fun of her. Who takes that action? I returned a few days later, furious, determined to teach him a lesson he would never forget.
Hello everyone, this is Edward. I’m just your average newlywed who is exhausted from lack of sleep, driven by cuddles (and many diaper changes! ), and utterly devoted to my 8-week-old daughter, Lily.
She’s a little delight, with the softest hair you’ve ever seen and gorgeous plump cheeks. Don’t get me wrong, parenting is a fantastic experience. It’s a symphony, the coos and gurgles and the way she beams when she hears your voice.
However, nobody informed me about the postpartum period. It seems like a grueling ordeal has robbed my usually cheerful spouse, Sarah, of her brightness. You see what I mean? Constant fatigue, dark bags beneath her eyes.
I need to rant, though, because this story is about something that happened a few days ago. So have a seat, because this story contains my will to regain some dignity and a jerk of a bank consultant who INSULTED my recently gave birth wife. Now let’s get started!
Sarah had some adult errands that required her to go to the bank. It is a simple errand, nothing complex.
“I’ll move quickly!” As she had promised, she put on a loose dress, pulled her hair back into a disheveled ponytail (because, hello, baby! ), and forced a grin that, though it falls short of her eyes, she hoped would be enough.
When that night came around, the smile was gone. Rather, there were wavering voice and streaks of tears. I guess my wife was the target of a middle-aged thug called Mark at the bank.
Sarah informed me that after glancing over her ID and seeing that she seemed more like a mother than in her pre-baby photo—which, of course, is obvious—the jerk grinned loudly enough for everyone in the bank to hear.
This had to be an antique picture, wow. You know, motherhood has been… DIFFERENT for you?
With tears in her eyes, Sarah cried out, “I was MORTIFIED, Ed.”
utterly destroyed. My only desire was to vanish. But I made myself complete the deal, keeping Lily by my side like a barrier. Wanting to get us both as far away from that guy as possible, I virtually rushed out of the bank as quickly as I could.
In seconds, my blood went from warm to boiling. Who says that to someone, particularly a brand-new mother who is already managing a lot?
I was furious. The harsh remarks of an unknown person had crushed my lovely, resilient Sarah. How could somebody have such cold heart?
I couldn’t possibly let this go. Sarah was entitled to better, and this bank—a location that condoned such conduct—needed to teach them a lesson they would never forget.
However, storming in with fury would not solve anything. I required a well-thought-out, strategic strategy.
A few days later, with resentment building inside, I took a sick day and went to the bank. With a briefcase in hand, I looked around the room.
There he stood, a middle-aged man with black hair pulled back and a bored face, standing behind the counter. The most annoying name on his name tag was “MARK.”
That was it. It’s time to show.
I walked up to him and gave him a hard handshake. “I need to know that my money is in trustworthy hands because I’m thinking of transferring a sizable sum here.”
Mark glanced at the briefcase and then back at me. His look changed from one of boredom to one of enthusiasm.
“Definitely, sir,” he said, sounding really sincere. “We would be pleased to help you. To what extent are we discussing?
I set the briefcase down on the counter, opened it just a crack to show off the piles of cash inside, then closed it again.
I answered, pausing for effect, “A substantial amount—enough to make a significant impact.” Five million in real money! However, I need to talk with your management first before we move further.
Mark’s eyes were almost like cash signs to me. He hurried to get the bank manager, Mr. Reynolds.
The handsome guy with a receding hairline, Mr. Reynolds, walked over, his grin polished but faltering as he saw the briefcase.
He said, “Good afternoon, sir.” “How can we help you right now?”
I gave a throat clearing. I said, “As I was saying, I’m interested in opening a new account, but I really value customer service.”
Mr. Reynolds held his chest high. Naturally, sir. Excellent customer service and treating everyone equally are two things we take great pleasure in.
I glanced at Mark, who was now assiduously avoiding eye contact, and nodded.
“It’s encouraging to hear,” I remarked, dropping my voice. “Because my wife had a pretty unpleasant experience when she visited this bank a few days ago.”
There was a collective gasp for air. Mr. Reynolds stopped smiling. Mark eventually met my sight and gave me a trapped expression.
“One of your consultants made fun of her,” I shouted, my rage palpable. “Mocked for not looking EXACTLY like her ID photo—which was taken before to the wonders of motherhood, incidentally.”
Mark’s face lost its color. He was aware of the outcome. Mr. Reynolds, with a genuine look of worry, cleared his throat.
“I… I sincerely apologize, sir. It will not occur once more,” he declared.
“It’s not enough to apologize,” I retorted, bending over. In banking, trust is essential. How can I put my money in the hands of a company whose employees lack fundamental empathy and respect for its clients?
Mr. Reynolds moved apprehensively. “Sir, rest assured that this kind of behavior is not accepted here.” He gave Mark a hard stare, and Mark muttered something that was hard to hear.
I said, “Words are just words,” and shut the briefcase firmly.
“My wife felt degraded and injured. That is true. Furthermore, it disgusts me to think that my hard-earned money is being used to support someone who believes it is acceptable to make fun of a new mother for a natural event like childbirth.
There was a noticeable stillness in the bank. Mr. Reynolds appeared to consider his choices. Mark had a hot face and appeared to be trying to blend in.
“I understand your frustration, sir,” was the last thing Mr. Reynolds said. “Maybe we should carry on this conversation in my office?”
I made the decision to take advantage of the humiliation that was evident on Mark’s face and the hint of comprehension that was there in Mr. Reynolds’s eyes.
“Excellent,” I said, trailing Mr. Reynolds inside his workspace.
Mr. Reynolds beckoned for me to sit down after closing the door. “Could you elaborate on what transpired with your wife?” he inquired, his tone lacking in pre-planned joy.
With a forceful voice, I narrated the story, feeling my fury reliving Sarah’s humiliation. Mr. Reynolds looked serious as he listened intently. He sighed heavily when I was done.
With sincere regret in his voice, he said, “This is unacceptable.” “Mr., let me reassure you.
“Fisher,” I answered.
“Mr. Fisher,” he said further. “We’ll respond appropriately. To make sure this never occurs again, Mark will receive a warning and we will evaluate our customer care training.
I was still dubious. “Mr. Reynolds, deeds speak louder than words.”
He seems to realize how serious it was. He said, “We’d like to make amends.” Maybe as a sign of our regret? Perhaps a free financial consultation?
There was nothing appealing about the proposition. A free financial counsel for treating my wife badly? Thank you, but no!
“Making sure this never happens again and making sure your staff understands the importance of treating every customer with dignity, regardless of their appearance, are the only true amends,” I said as I got up.
Mr. Reynolds gave a sharp nod. “We comprehend. We appreciate you alerting us to this, Mr. Fisher.
Feeling strangely elated, I exited the bank with my briefcase still in hand. Perhaps, just perhaps, my insignificant deed had set off a chain reaction.
We were surprised later that evening by a tap on the door. Sarah replied carefully, still healing emotionally. She recognized the man right away; he was looking bashful and was clutching a bunch of tulips.
It was Mark.
“Mrs. Fisher,” he stumbled and avoided making eye contact while clearing his throat. “I… My deepest apologies for what transpired the other day. My remark was offensive and out of place. I’m really sorry about it.
Sarah looked from Mark to me and back again.
He began with a sincere apology, sharing how my visit had widened his eyes and reaffirmed his commitment to being more understanding going forward. Mark apologized to Sarah politely, and they had a brief talk before he departed.
The knot in my chest finally released that evening as I hugged her close.
I was upset when I entered the bank, but I also came out with far more significant things: proof that empathy can win, justice for my wife, and a reminder that even the little battle for what’s right may have a big impact on the world.
I can’t get the question out of my head: What would you have done? Would you have left the scene or challenged the offender? And how would you respond in such circumstance?